


Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year

by Merkey666



Series: High School Au [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy, I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band), Mindless Self Indulgence (Band), My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Used, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Break Up, Chance Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Skateboarding, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22171087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkey666/pseuds/Merkey666
Summary: Gerard is starting Sophomore year with a distant boyfriend, low expectations, and zero hours of sleep. The boyfriend thing doesn't stick around, but it doesn't hurt so much after he runs into Frank on a deserted road in the middle of the night.
Relationships: Bert McCracken/Gerard Way, Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Mikey Way/Pete Wentz
Series: High School Au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/537865
Comments: 15
Kudos: 51





	1. Just a Couple of Miserable Pissbabies

**Author's Note:**

> i honest to god cannot believe i am seventeen and still writing fan fiction. i need to get a job or something

It’s dark in the suburbs right now. Despite the stars shining as they do, they don’t shine on anybody. The streets are empty and the houses are silent. The air is warm but weightless, and it smells like pine trees. Taller than you could reach, the street lamps guard the sidewalk. Underneath the orange glow, the yellow stripe down the middle of the road looks like tightrope.

Gerard thinks about walking it. Walking down the street could lead him to better places, like Ray’s house. But what’s wrong with where he is now?

What’s wrong with sitting under a street light, legs kicked out in front of him in the street. There are no cars to run him over, no police to chew him out. It brings a smile to his face. 

The summer was just carrying the cross day-to-day, but school starts on Monday. And that’ll be the long haul. Tonight is his last Saturday to sit under the sky all alone, swatting bugs away from his orifices. It’s not their fault the liquid salt on his cheeks seems so delicious. 

Gerard leans against a telephone pole and swallows the rest of his pain. _This night does not deserve so much sadness_ , he thinks. Then again, his eyes do not deserve all the light pollution he sees in the distance. A tin can scrapes against the concrete as the wind tries to lift it. Gerard is too miserable to pick it up and dispose of it. Tonight is not the night. 

His hair blows wildly in front of his eyes. His eyesight is obstructed, so now he sees a barcode, half greasy black, half grey-orange asphalt. A beetle scuttles across the ground, making the nighttime rounds.

A sound startles everything in the immediate vicinity. Gerard looks up, but whatever it is hasn’t rounded the bend quite yet. The corner spits out a skateboarder a quarter mile away. No helmet, holes in the knees of his jeans, vans that probably smell like rotting flesh. Gerard is not impressed right off the bat, but the board hits a rock and the kid goes flying off the board.

The crash is quiet, but it does’t look fun. The kid manages to get back up, but he tucks the board under his arm and limps the rest of the way. His head hangs like he doesn’t want to be spoken to.

Gerard feels weird about asking if he’s hurt, but even weirder about letting him pass by silently. He’s kinda limping, after all. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, not pushing his hair out of his face. 

The kid stops uncomfortably. “Not dead,” he says. 

Gerard takes that as an answer and the kid departs. The mellow sinks back in but before long, this mysterious failed skater doubles back. 

“Are _you_ okay?” he asks. 

Gerard is tempted to say “not dead”, but his mother taught him better than that. His mother also taught him not to talk to strangers, but crossroads happen. He wipes the tears from his cheeks on the back of his hand. 

“Could be better.”

The skater lingers a moment, then drops his board. He offers a hand which Gerard denies. He’s content enough to sit at the last place he felt confident. That’s the reason he’s clinging to the spot like a life-line. 

“Not ready for summer to be over?” the skater asks. 

“Something like that,” Gerard replies. Oh, how dramatic he’s being. Mikey would tease him for weeks. 

“Me too.” He readjusts his grip on the board and looks down the road. It looks identical to the direction he came from. “Get up.”

“What?” Gerard asks. He's not sure he can. 

“You need a walk.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Shut up.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up! You don’t even know me.” That silences the skater, and Gerard crosses his arms. He hates how the more he thinks, the more he wants to go with the kid. As much as he wants to sit and feel like a colossal joke some more, he gets the notion that this new figure has the right idea.

“You don’t have to be my therapist, you know,” Gerard hisses. Offense is his last defense before he goes with the kid, which he knows he will. 

“Believe me, I know.”

Gerard smiles minutely. “I bet it beats eating shit every time you run over a rock.”

“I’m Tony mother-fucking Hawk in daylight,” he snaps back.

Gerard doesn’t quite believe that, but he picks himself off the ground and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Where are we going?” 

The kid smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “As far as we can.” 

He’d dropped his board down and as he rode, the breeze whistled past his face. He’s gotten so much better since last summer. He could barely remember a time when he actually walked anywhere, but he believed that said more about his memory than his skill. His hair was longer too, it was so long that the wind kept blowing it into his eyes. Subsequently, he didn't see the rock and ate shit in front of the girliest boy he’d ever met. 

“What’s your name, by the way?” he asks. 

“Promise you’re not gonna kill me?” Being murdered isn’t even on his top five list of current problems, but Gerard asks anyway.

“How would telling me your name change that?” he replies. 

Gerard shrugs. “Good point. I’m Gerard.”

“Rad. I’m Frank.” Frank. Gerard knows a Frank. Or, Mikey knows a Frank and Gerard knows Mikey.

Gerard squints in the dark. “Do you go to East High by any chance?”

“By any chance, I do,” Frank replies. “I thought I recognized you. Were you in first period biology?”

Gerard quickens his pace because Frank is by no means a novice skater and likes to go fast. “No. I bet we just saw each other in the halls, or something.”

They walk (and skate) in silence for a while. The night wears on, one star dipping under the horizon at a time. Sometimes they chat, sometimes they listen to the crickets chirping and telephone poles buzzing. Frank alternates between riding by Gerard’s side and leaving him in the dust.

Gerard stops recognizing the street signs after about an hour. The city isn’t big but it’s late and he was far from home to begin with. He’s starting to tire but honestly he’d rather be here than back under the street lamp or at home in bed. 

Frank falls back and skates a little slower. “So why were you at the bus stop? Running away from home?”

Now there’s something Gerard does not want to talk about. Above all, he’s been sitting with _it_ all summer and instead of cooling down, it’s simmered and tonight it boiled over. Secondly, he doesn’t want to risk saying anything about his “boyfriend” because aside from an hour of dead-end chatter, he doesn’t know this kid. He doesn’t intend to risk that. 

“Maybe I’ll tell you another time.”

“Mysterious.”

“I try,” Gerard laughs. Even if he never speaks to this kid again, he’ll remember this would-be slow evening as something better. For that he’s grateful. He won’t admit things like these to himself, but Gerard needed a pick me up tonight. 

“Why are you out so late?” he asks.

“What, you get to know my history and I don’t get to know yours? How’s that fair?” Frank snaps back. 

Gerard rolls his eyes. “Life isn’t fair.”

Frank purses away his smile. “Edgy, much? I get it, it’s one of those evenings. To me, it was just so nice out that I decided to go for a late night ride. Just kidding, all my friends are dickheads and don’t like me.”

“You have friends?” Gerard jokes.

“ _You have friends_?” Frank mimics angrily. “Shut up. They just don’t get it.”

“Get what?” Gerard figures it’s his turn to play therapist.

Frank twitches and throws his arms out in fragmented gestures. “Me, I guess.”

Gerard takes in a deep breath. It’s maddeningly satisfying to know he’s not the only idiot stuck on that feeling. After all this time, he still can’t get himself over it, let alone drop-kick Frank’s own teenage angst. 

“That’s a good reason for a midnight ride,” he finally says. It’s clearly not midnight anymore. In the east, that premature summer sunrise begins to glow. It drowns out the lower stars and Gerard knows soon the darkness won’t hide how grey and dismal he looks. 

He hadn’t meant to stay out all night, but he doesn’t regret it either. As long as he gets home before mom wakes up, he’s golden. As he suspects the sky will soon be. He had better say goodbye. 

Frank looks serene, like first light doesn’t faze him. Like he’s done this many times before. Maybe he has. Maybe Gerard could get himself invited to some more. He imagines a future of bad days only redeemed by a night walk with Frank. Maybe sophomore wouldn’t be the complete pile of shit he’s expecting it to be. 

When they hit a dead end, they double back down the roads they’ve already walked. Everything looks different, less orange. It’s nowhere near dawn yet, but the darkness is not quite the same. It’s ugly, reminding Gerard that today is his last day of summer. God, he’s so miserable. 

The bus stop is where he left it. Part of him hoped it would be blown to pieces by the time he got back, but no dice. 

“Is this your stop?” Frank asks. 

“No. But I can backyard hop to my house from here, so you don’t have to babysit me any more. Congrats, you’re free.” Gerard sounds more depressed than he did all night, and he really hopes Frank doesn’t notice. It’s not like Gerard has been in his prime at any point this evening, but morning Gerard is truly an atrocity. 

“Oh, cool.” Frank looks caught off guard. He kicks up his board and tucks it under his arm. With one hand, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it over. “Put your number in, just in case you need another night walk.”

The gesture is strangely flattering to Gerard. He’s not sure if he’s just being weird about it or if… there is no if, he decides. He enters his number and hands the phone back. “Thanks. Same to you, I guess.” He laughs nervously and backs off into the woods.

Frank drops his board and sends him off with a half-smile. “Oh, Gerard! Don’t tell anyone your name. You don’t want them to murder you.”

Gerard flips him off and jumps the first fence. 

~

He stares at his phone. He has no messages from unknown numbers and that’s seriously disappointing. When he put his number in Frank’s phone, he expected no less than a courtesy “hey this is Frank” text. It hasn’t been twelve hours and yet Gerard is already downcast. He’s starting to suspect that his standards are too high. 

“You’re not even paying attention!” Ray complains out of the blue. “You suggested this movie, and you’re not even watching!”

“My attention does not make the movie worse.” Gerard slides his phone back in his pocket, pretending he doesn’t care about it. 

Ray’s not stupid. “Are you waiting for Bert to text?”

First Gerard thinks _no, obviously not_ , but before he admits that, he reconsiders and opts to omit Frank. “Yeah.” Suddenly he remembers that Bert is a sore-spot in their relationship and that maybe Frank was a better bet. 

“He hasn’t texted all summer.”

“Yeah, I fucking know that,” Gerard snaps. 

Ray raises his hands. “Okay! Where did he claim he was again?”

“He IS working at summer camp in the mountains. He didn’t claim anything. He’s not a liar.”

Ray seems to find that hard to swallow. “Right, because he’s Honest Abe suddenly.”

“Don’t name drop, you know I don’t have a clue who the fuck you’re talking about,” Gerard replies, eyes glued to the television screen. 

Ray makes a face that Gerard doesn’t need to see. 

“And I’m not going to argue with you about him. You’re biased.”

Ray pauses the movie. “How am I the biased one? You’re dating him!”

Gerard does not have the strength to fight his best friend right now. Not while on low-battery, not after being abandoned by his boyfriend for three months, not after a really strange night with a stranger. That last reason doesn’t fit in, but Gerard feels it’s somehow relevant.

“Then why do I need to explain to you that everything bad thing in the world is not caused by him?” Gerard asks, unpausing the movie. 

Ray puts an arm around Gerard’s shoulder, his own way of accepting a temporary truce. The core of the problem is rooted in his immense care for Gerard and Bert’s lack-thereof. Ray has some suspension of disbelief, so maybe Bert does care and does a bad job of showing it. 

Gerard starts to feel like shit again. He refuses to admit that Ray’s claims have validity, and he intends to stay that way. Obviously, it’s not Bert’s fault that he had to work at a summer camp during what should have been their quality-time. It’s not his fault that one month turned into six weeks, into two months, into all summer. It’s definitely not his fault that there’s no reception. Gerard doesn’t get how Ray doesn’t see the complete coincidence that is Bert’s extremely recent ex-girlfriend also working there too. Life is just one set of unfortunate circumstances after another, and Gerard regrettably hopes Ray notices that soon. 

“Mikey’s going to East High this year, right?” Ray asks, after another predictable plot point passes by. 

“Yeah. He had orientation all last week.”

“Sucker,” Ray snickers. 

“Yeah,” Gerard agrees. “Did you get the email about the new kid?”

“I’ve never read a single email in my life.”

“God, I wish that were me. Apparently Patrick knows him. Says he’s a wild card,” Gerard says. 

Ray scratches his head. He’s in dangerous territory now, but he just _loves_ annoying Gerard. “Oh, interesting. You and Patrick still friends?”

Gerard sits up straighter and cracks his neck. “Yep.”

“Cool. For a while there, you two sorta faded in and out, wasn’t sure what—“

“Shut the fuck up Ray, I know you know.” 

Ray laughs, reveling in the catharsis following Gerard _finally_ admitting it. His months spent harassing Gerard were no longer for nothing. Ray knew there was something between Gerard and Patrick for a time and being told he’s right is so much better than simply knowing he is. Although, Ray isn’t really sure why Gerard has chosen now to give in. Maybe he’s finally worn down by Ray’s constant insinuations. 

For Gerard, talking about Patrick or literally anything else is better than talking about Bert with Ray. Still, he doesn’t want to talk about this either. “Can’t we just watch this movie please?”

Ray cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah, fine. Deflect all you want.”

Gerard intends to do precisely that for as long as he damn well can. His phone buzzes after a few seconds of continuously predictable plot. This movie is not as good the second time around, Gerard decides, unlocking his phone and noticing the text from an unknown number. 

Unknown number: i napped for three fucking years. wbu

Gerard: haven’t yet. hope that fatal gash on your knee heals.

Unknown number: still sulking like a miserable pissbaby?

Gerard changes Frank’s contact name to Miserable Pissbaby and laughs to himself. 

Gerard: talk to me when you don’t have a mullet

Miserable Pissbaby: ITS A MOHAWK 

Ray grabs Gerard’s phone and hucks it across the room. “You made me watch this shitty movie so you’re gonna watch it too.”

“Whatever, mom.” Gerard crosses his arms and really does not enjoy the movie on the second go. 

~

His real mom makes him leave Ray’s house after staying for dinner. Gerard had expected a sleepover, but—

“Summer is over.” Gerard flops on Mikey’s bed with a tub of ice cream and tries not to cry. 

“Duh,” Mikey replies, sarcastic as ever. He’s sitting at his desk, head in hands, skimming his summer reading. He can’t absorb it through brain to paper osmosis, and he lacks the time to actually read it, so this is the best he can do.

Gerard feels left behind. “Are you ready for school?”

“Unless I can read Lord of the Flies before midnight, no.”

Gerard’s phone says it’s 11:30, so no, Mikey is not ready for school either. That’s a relief. 

Out the small window above Mikey’s desk, the stars struggle to shine. The trees are just a different shade of dark and the streets are unappealing. Sunday nights always feel different from the rest of the week. 

Gerard hasn’t slept in far too long, but he would give anything to go on another walk right now. He figures his sleeplessness is what’s giving him the shakes, but he doesn’t see a good night’s rest in his immediate future. He lingers in Mikey’s room, eating ice cream from the carton until their mom kicks down the door and demands they both go to sleep. 

The basement where Gerard sleeps is somehow hotter than the rest of the house. He pulls a fan out of his closet and points it directly at his pillow. Even now, laying in the cool breeze, he’s not content. 

He should be happy because Bert comes back tomorrow. He should have done his summer reading. He should not have told Ray about Patrick. He should have done community service over the summer. There are a lot of should’s running through his head and they prevent him from falling asleep for most of the night. Just as he resigns himself to another miserable, humid, sleepless night, he passes out. 

In his dreams, he sits by the bus stop. The wind blows on his skin, neither too cold or too hot. The air is sweet from stone-fruit trees blooming. Above is a perfectly purple sky, smattered with the Milky Way. The little street lamps don’t make a dent in the darkness. A pair of headlights break through the serenity, tearing Gerard out of his little world. The silence slowly makes way for the rough sounds of the school bus. _Bert’s on that bus_ , Gerard thinks as the bus closes in. He stands up and takes a step forward, only for the bus to drive on by and disappear into the darkness in the other direction. 

Even unconscious, Gerard is disappointed but not surprised. 

~

The sophomore schedule for the year does not look very interesting to Gerard. He sips black coffee from a very large mug outside the main office, waiting for Ray to get his schedule. Gerard is now in the art elective, which is cool, but he bets a lot of his other friends will be in band. The track classes sound like hell: biology, physics, trigonometry, etc. Every second the weight of the school year feels heavier, but all Gerard can do is drink coffee and wait for it to be over. 

Ray nearly walks into a group of people but Gerard catches him by the sleeve in the nick of time. 

“Dude, gimmie that,” Gerard snaps, snatching his schedule and comparing classes. The good news is that Gerard and Ray won’t be so alone this year. There isn’t bad news yet, but Gerard knows it’s lurking somewhere. 

He pulls out a highlighter—probably the only time he’ll have one all year—and circles the classes they have in common. He allows Ray to hold and drink his coffee in the meantime. 

He neglected to mention how hot it was. “Have you seen Mikey’s classes yet?” asks Ray through a mouth of scalding, bitter coffee. 

“Nope. He’s got the twenty-billion hour orientation in the auditorium first. I’m sure he’ll text me bitching soon enough.” He flattens out Ray’s schedule and hands it back. “But we totally lucked out. We’ve got almost all the track classes together. I’ll finally have somebody to make witty comments to!”

Ray finds that statement incredibly funny. “To be fair, you only talked to three people last year. Me, your boyfriend, and Patrick.”

“Fuck off. It’s not like you’re a little socialite, with your DND club.”

“I thought you said the DND club was a good idea,” Ray says, crestfallen.

“Well, maybe it’s not so bad. But back to your point, I’m doing better this year! I already started talking to this kid outside of school,” Some part of him tells the rest to stop talking. “—and Patrick’s gonna introduce us to the new kid, and we’ve got Mikey now.”

“Relying on your brother to get you friends. That’s just the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.” Ray laughs when Gerard punches him in the arm. 

The halls begin to fill up, so Gerard shoulders his bag and mentally prepares himself for first period. He gets a ‘hang in there’ look from Ray and takes off down the hallway with the force of a small truck, because first and foremost, he has somebody to talk with. 

A couple passing people wave at him as he flies by, people who’s names he can’t fathom. Aside from Ray and his family, Gerard hadn’t seen a SOUL all summer, and that was purely intentional (for the most part). And Lindsey was in Croatia, huffing gasoline or whatever, and Brendon... Gerard was cool with not seeing Brendon for two and a half months.

Gerard’s hair falls in his face as he runs. A girl leaning against the lockers yells at her boyfriend at full volume. The kids wearing tails hiss as he jogs by, and Gerard says nothing in reply. He’s only considered marginally cooler than them, and now is not the time to change that. Behind the door of the JROTC room, loud instructional audio blasts. Apparently there’s lasagna for the school lunch, judging by the smells surrounding the cafeteria hallway. None of this was missed for a single second over the summer, by anybody. 

The red locker with “BERT” painted on it is as advertised. He’s not wearing a backpack and his hair is longer, but aside from that, he’s the same as he was on the last day of school. Even the signature frown is the same. 

Gerard barrels into him and breathes in his smell. Even that’s the same, for better or for worse. He rests his head on Bert’s shoulder and absorbs the contact. All of the sudden he wasn’t sure how exactly he’d survived the summer on masturbation alone. He hopes the third floor bathroom is still empty during first period. 

“Hey, Gee,” Bert whispers, laughing under the words. He not-so-subtly ends the hug before they get unwanted attention. 

“What’s McCrack-a-lackin’?” Gerard laughs, unaware how stupid Bert finds that joke. Maybe it was funny the first time, but not anymore. 

Bert can’t get a word in before the dam breaks and Gerard goes full in-patient and spills his guts. 

“Wow, I cannot figure out how I survived this summer without you. It was so God-awfully hot the whole shitting time, and it was _boring_. All I did was stay inside the whole time and I had to jack myself off, which is an atrocity to begin with, and the corner store stopped selling stoags to minors, so for the first few weeks I had to scrounge around for cigs before Ray found a new place and—no, you don’t care, that’s fine. I just feel like I have so much shit to fill you in on, so to start—“ Gerard punches him in the arm. “That’s what you get for leaving me all summer! Y’know, not to sound like a lovesick freshman or anything but it _kinda_ feels on purpose, like you were trying to get away from me or some shit, but no biggie, because I’m not a stupid freshman anymore.”

Gerard just can’t stop himself. He expects every sentence to be the last because he knows how annoying he’s being, but one line feeds the next like rocket fuel and before long he’s preached a whole soliloquy.

Bert rubs his arm awkwardly and avoids the condescending laughter from his friends across the hall. Gerard has never liked them. He’s aware they don’t like him either, but Gerard doesn’t think they’re homophobes, he just thinks they’re assholes.

Bert lets out another nervous laugh, then says, “Nah, just to clear your conscience I didn’t leave just to get away from you. There was just… a lot.”

Gerard pauses. “A lot?”

“Of stuff, y’know, like going into my junior year is crazy, I’ve gotta look a colleges and start studying for the SAT. I’m half way done with high school. Just… kinda wack, y’know?”

Bert’s being suspicious, that much is clear to Gerard. Most of his brain begs him not to overthink but today that battle is lost. “Right. Well, you’ve still got me, so that should count for something,” Gerard laughs, “not everything has to change.”

They share a smile but it’s just for show. This bandaid is not tearing quickly.

“That’s life, Gerard.” He still smiles but it’s not the same smile he had before the summer. 

“What?”

“I—never mind. Tell you later.”

“Yeah,” Gerard agrees, semi-angrily. “Class’ll start soon. Bet your friends don’t want to be late on the first day.”

“The sarcasm is strong with this one.”

“So you’d better get going. And you’re gonna tell me all about your summer at lunch!” _Bert can burn as much of his past as he wants_ , Gerard thinks, _but he’s leaving the lunch dates alone_. That’s fucking final. 

Bert nods and gives him a brief kiss on the cheek, well in view of his friends. Three months and that’s all he gets? No way. Gerard reaches up and pulls him back in. He strongly believes PDA is disgusting, yet he kisses his boyfriend with every ounce of _it’s been three fucking months!_.

He wears it like a badge of honor afterwards and glares at Bert’s stupid, shitty friends as they walk away. They’re laughing like hyenas, punching Bert, and making him look a fool. Gerard doesn’t know what stupid thing he did over the summer that warrants that reaction, and as he thinks about it, Bert didn’t bother to tell him either. 

Gerard puts on his jacket before making his way to class. He walks slower and more hunched over, like he used to before he learned to love himself. He doesn’t know what to make of what just happened but his worst fears are back with a vengeance. The confusion makes his mind spin and skin itch, makes him feel like every move he makes is wrong. The dipshit honking the air horn doesn’t help. 

High school sucks again. It didn’t even last an hour. 

By lunchtime he doesn’t remember what happened in periods one through four. He buys a cold coffee from the vending machine and waits on the picnic bench outside for Bert. It’s hot enough that Gerard’s short-sleeve shirt sticks to his chest. He wishes he had a hair tie; the back of his neck is getting swampy. 

If he sits on the very end of the bench, he can get some shade, but that hurts his ass and it’s really not worth it. Across the courtyard is where the skaters do tricks off of railings and get hurt in the process. In the past, Gerard’s ignored them. Now the clicks and shouts of pain are irresistible to him. He watches the skaters while he waits. 

“Gee?” 

Gerard tears himself away from the skaters in favor of his boyfriend. “Hey! How was class?”

Bert looks funky. He seems to have had something to say in the queue, but Gerard caught him off guard. He sits down a little jerkily but he doesn’t unpack his lunch. “Not fucking fantastic, that’s for sure. I have trig first thing in the morning. First thing!”

“That’s a war crime,” Gerard laughs. 

“I fucking know, right?” Bert shakes his head disappointedly. “You?”

Gerard can’t actually remember which classes he has. “Good enough. I think I’ll live.”

Bert snorts like he doesn’t expect that. He runs a hand through his hair and begins a few sentences that all fall through.

“You were gonna tell me about your summer?” Gerard offers. 

Bert looks him dead in the eyes for no apparent reason and it floors him. It’s just a look. It’s just a look, a dangerous look, a warning look. It’s _Danger, Do Not Enter!_ personified.

“Yeah. And I will, but I need to say this first. Um. I’m sixteen and my life is being turned upside-down right now, and I need you to understand that. It’s not an excuse it’s just… perspective. My mom is saying that I’m gonna go to military school after college if I don’t get my act together; I tried to quit smoking over the summer and all I got was a weekend of withdrawal and then three months of shame; I failed my driving test again—“

Disregarding Bert’s legitimate problems, Gerard interrupts happily, “Well, gays can’t drive, everybody knows that.”

Bert flushes a deep shade of red and glares at Gerard for a few seconds. “You know what? Fine, no need to drag this out. I’m not gay.”

_Funny_ , Gerard thinks, because he’s never heard of any straight guy entering a romantic relationship with another guy. So he goes along with the joke because that’s what he assumes that statement is—a joke.

“I’m not fucking around, Gerard. You wanna know what I did all summer? Why I stayed at camp for so long?”

Gerard doesn’t realize how serious Bert is until now, and it’s beyond too late. He’s been nervous since last week but now it shows. For once in his life he doesn’t want to be a telepath, because deep down he knows what’s coming and he would do anything to avoid it. 

“I fucked my ex. And after that I decided to stay for the rest of the summer because I didn’t want to have to go back and face this.”

Gerard’s blinking just to keep the tears at bay. He stares holes into the wooden picnic table. He kinda knew that already, which only makes him feel worse and have less of an idea of what to say. 

“Maybe you’re bi,” he suggests. It’s not the right thing to say but he’s unarmed and empty handed. All of his conflict resolution skills or basic self defense tactics are gone. Even if he could find the words to fight back, this conversation is going way faster than he can register. 

“Maybe I am! But that’s not what I tried to avoid.”

“Me?” Gerard asks. The day is hot and humid but Gerard is clammy and shaking. 

“No, I already told you that. It’s not you it’s… you can’t possibly understand what I’m going through. Right now, my life is an old, shitty house and junior year is the fucking Property Brothers, okay? Everything changes.” Bert is red in the face from exasperation. He doesn’t mean to get so heated, but life is being unfair and that’s frustrating. He begs to God with whatever worth his life has that Gerard doesn’t cry. That would be the match in the gas tank. 

Gerard knows a thing or two about life being unfair, and at the current moment, he’s learning more. “So, you’re throwing me out with the rest of the garbage?”

Anybody else would be empathetic, but Bert has no more empathy left to spread. “You’re not garbage,” he states. “I’m breaking up with you because this relationship is not good for me anymore. Life changes, shit happens. You don’t get that yet, but you will.”

“Yeah, I’ll give you a call when it’s my turn to get laid at summer camp,” Gerard spits. 

Bert rolls his eyes. “Okay, that was shitty of me, I’ll admit that. But—“

“I don’t want your fucking excuses!” Gerard snaps. He grabs his backpack and reaches out for every mean word he’s ever learned in his life. “Whatever, I get it! I’m just some stupid kid who doesn’t know shit about life yet and you deserve better. So what if I wanted a stable relationship.”

People are staring. Bert puts his head in his hands. “I don’t think you even know what that means.”

“I do too, dickhead! It means being committed and loving to one another, and—“

Bert rolls his eyes. “Love doesn’t exist, Gerard. Not right now.”

Gerard has truly heard enough of that nihilistic bullshit to last him a life time. He’s got better things to do than argue with someone who won’t listen to reason. Then again, for all he knows, this could be the last time he speaks to Bert. There’s not enough empathy left in him to end things on a good note, but Gerard’s core is filled with kindness. 

“I really hope,” he begins, tears stinging the corners of his eyes, “that some day you disagree. Because otherwise you’ll end up being the sad and pathetic one for a change.”

Before Bert can protest _“Nobody said you’re sad or pathetic!”_ , Gerard scoops up his lukewarm coffee and books it. Subconsciously, as he runs, he listens for Bert to call something out, some final exclamation. The courtyard is just as quiet as usual. 

As soon as his back is turned, the tears start to fall. Immediately he wishes he’d been meaner or more concise, but it’s too late and he’ll die before he goes back. Looking forward, the nearest single-stall bathroom is just behind the cafeteria, so Gerard makes a beeline for it. The problem is that all his friends eat in the cafeteria too, so he has to slip past them with watery eyes and a gait that just _screams_ self-deprecation. That might be too much to ask for. 

He clings to the back wall and hops behind trash cans to avoid being spotted. He notices Mikey sitting up there and wishes for the composure to go say hi. It does not come. Just another way that Bert has ruined his day. 

As he snakes between the compost bins, his upset and depression shift into simmering resentment and bitterness. Gerard picks up the pace because he really wants to cry at least a little bit right now, but of course the bathroom is full and will likely stay full for the rest of the hour. Judging, obviously, by the noises. 

On the other hand, he’s not so weepy anymore. The final boss battle between himself and his emotions is on the horizon, but by God it is not going to happen in the middle of the cafeteria. For the time being he wipes his face on his shirt, breathes in the signature kitchen stank, and he and his coffee march over to their throne. It's not what's best for him, but it's the hand he's been given. Besides, there are some new faces this year. 

At some point during the last school year, Patrick mentioned that his life-long friend would transfer to East High in sophomore year, but nobody really believed him. Now Pete Wentz is a proud East High student and everyone is already regretting not preparing themselves. 

Joe and Andy used to sit with the rest of them and everybody assumed it would be the same this year, until last week they sent out a text saying that they would be leading Star Wars club during lunch instead this year. Andy’s friend Brendon (supposedly from football) stayed, so it wasn’t a complete loss. 

Gerard’s childhood friend Lindsey got kicked off of the cheerleading squad at some point last year and started showing up for lunch. Nobody really questioned that. By now, lunch isn’t the same without her. 

And, of course, there’s Mikey. 

He drops his backpack on the table and leans on it like a pillow. “Great. My first day here and I get immediately pegged as a loser for sitting with my brother and his weird friends,” he grumbles. 

“You’d be lucky to get pegged on your first day of high school,” Pete mumbles, snickering into his spaghetti.

“Are we weird?” Ray asks sincerely. 

“Uh, yeah,” Mikey says in that snarky teenage way. “First of all you’ve got a couple of untouchable metal-heads, which speaks for itself. Then there’s us, the new kids, and Patrick, who doesn’t play trombone but looks like he should. And not to forget my weird, goth sister.”

“Listen, Mikes, if I start experimenting with gender, you’ll be the first to know,” Gerard hisses. Mikey’s token bitchiness is particularly unpleasant when he’s having a crisis, like now, for example. 

“I was talking about Lindsey, but thanks, I guess.”

“Mikey, we’re all your weird, goth sisters,” Pete coos, going for the world record of becoming hated the fastest. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Yeah,” Mikey rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I met you today or anything.”

“What can I say? I know what I like.”

If Gerard weren't in the midst of what feels like every single crisis—think existential, mid-life, etc—his brotherly instincts would be tingling. Mikey’s in ninth grade, he’s practically still a baby. But Gerard is in every circle of hell at once and it’s called fifth period lunch. 

“I don’t want Pete to speak anymore, so let’s move on,” Mikey sighs, pushing his uneaten lunch aside and leaning forward onto his arms. Like the table is a monarchy and Mikey is the king, the conversation changes subjects. 

Gerard leans his head on his hand and stares out the window. From where he sits he can clearly see the front entrance to the school. Each and every second he spends thinking about leaving makes his heart harden and a lump form in his throat. All of the ways Bert made him feel ten minutes ago resonate within him, but he must hold them off for just a few more hours. In honor of Mikey’s first day of high school, Gerard feels compelled to stay and see the day through. Otherwise, he would already be gone, crying in the playground by his house. 

Gerard bites back the sadness and distracts himself with happy memories instead. The only ones that makes any difference are the feeling of the night air, and the soft mumbles from Frank. Were it but a warm weekend evening and they could walk until emotion was a construct from the past.

“—Gerard?”

“What?”

“Did you hear what I said?” Patrick asks. 

“Obviously not,” Gerard growls. 

Ray and Mikey exchange glances but say nothing. 

Patrick looks him over before he repeats what he said. “I mean, this table if huge and there’s, like, seven of us. It’s kinda sad. I thought maybe we could invite some people to join us.”

“Only people worthy of our company, obviously,” Lindsey laughs.

Gerard looks around at the table of smiling people and isn’t sure how long he can blend in. He copy and pastes their smiles onto his face and says, “yeah, we are a little sad.”

Mikey snorts into his lunch. “No kidding.”

“I could invite a few cheerleading girls. They’re not all terrible,” Lindsey suggests. She shudders when Pete appears zealous at the idea. 

“I know a few people who could use some cool kids like us,” Brendon offers. 

Gerard thinks about his own contribution. For whatever reason, the only person on his mind is Frank, now that Bert is out of the question. Not like Bert would have sat with them anyway, Gerard thinks miserably. But Frank?— Frank could work. At least, Gerard would like him too. 

“I think I know someone too,” Gerard says casually. His words are all he has to defend his facade. Then again, how he presents doesn’t matter all that much to him. As long as it doesn’t depress Mikey, Gerard couldn’t care less. 

“Good, good,” Brendon nods. “I think this way we’ll have enough for a small kingdom by next week at the latest.”

_Who died and made him king?_ , Gerard wonders. To be honest, probably Joe and Andy. But if Brendon’s under the impression that he’s king of the table because he was here last year too, then Gerard will straighten that out just as soon as he has the opportunity. Maybe next week, if he has time…

“Which small country are you planning on taking over?” Ray mutters under his breath, practically reading Gerard’s mind yet again. 

“Well, I’m excited,” Pete announces to the unconcerned audience. 

“Good for you,” Mikey replies monotonously. When he’s sure Pete’s looked away, he sneaks a glance to make sure Pete’s not actually getting sick on Mikey’s shitty attitude. Mikey doesn’t _care_ what Pete thinks of him or even _if_ Pete thinks of him. But it’s his first day of high school and Pete is the right door to all the right places. 

Gerard catches all of this because he is A) not a brick, and B) Mikey’s brother. Unfortunately, Mikey is the only person his telepathy works on. He compartmentalizes and decides this a worry for another day. Today can only handle so many. 

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch and Gerard makes a break for it. Nobody chases after him to ask what’s up and that’s for the best. Should anyone have come up to him and poked the bear, Gerard would’ve left right then and there and not come back for a week. 

One bell turns into ten and suddenly he’s on the school’s front steps at 3:30 with a pack of cigarettes in his backpack and no plans for the foreseeable future except to cry, alone, for as long as possible. _Mikey knows the way home_ , Gerard reasons, taking the longer, lonelier route home in order to smoke. 

Gerard has always tried very hard to moderate how often he smokes, but by now he needs a cig like his life depends on it. The second he’s off school campus he lights up. The head rush numbs the pain but not enough to shut off the thoughts. 

He doesn’t know what’s worse: how long he’s been feeling this coming or that it actually happened. All the odds against Bert added up so perfectly, but can Gerard really blame himself for being willingly ignorant? Even now, he doesn’t want to face it. Why hadn’t he been realistic? Bert wasn’t his; why would he be? No one should have to settle like that. 

Gerard cries as he makes his way away from school. The air is warm and thick with Indian Summer, but he shakes. He wonders where he goes from here, unaware it’ll be a while before he goes anywhere. 

His feet take him past his house. Mikey’s radio is on. His mom’s car is in the driveway. It all seems too domestic for him to belong in there. He keeps walking.

There’s a decrepit park nearby. It lies in the center of the neighborhood like the bullseye to all things suburban and miserable. The outer ring of trees are so tall and so vine encrusted that the central play structure is invisible to anyone on the sidewalk. The whole park smells like stale cigarette smoke, but so does Gerard. He throws himself down the barely paved pathway, brushing through the overgrown grasses and sun-dried wildflowers. 

Gerard is perfectly alone in the hollow, permitted to finally acknowledge how he feels. But he’s cried for so long already that every tear is a clone of some sadder thought long gone. All his bottles of emotions are empty now. He collapses on a bench and pulls out another cigarette, people-watching the ghosts people have left behind. 

The box of Newports drains before the sun hits the tree tops. Even after they’ve gone, Gerard kills time on the bench. He’s not waiting for any one thing or another, just for it to be late enough to text Frank.

At the first sign of orange light, he digs his phone out of his pocket. He finds it easy to sound just fine and wonders how many people do that every day. Pushing that specific existential crisis away, he plays it casual. 

Gerard: u kno the crackhead park by where u met me?

He clicks his phone off after sending and resigns himself to his tormenting thoughts. They’re not so bad in the cool afternoon air. Miserable Pissbaby responds a few minutes later.

Miserable Pissbaby: fuck yeah i do

Gerard: could u go there? ik it’s not 3 in the morning, but I thot maybe u could make an exception just this 1 time

Miserable Pissbaby: what, like i’m a vampire or smth?

Gerard: maybe stop dressing like one and people wont assume that

Miserable Pissbaby: you’re insufferable. c u soon

Cool. Gerard only has to hang on for a little while. He flicks a fly off of his knee and puts out the butt of cig on the bench. 

When the sun finally sets, moths flock to the street lamps on the street and the sky looks like it carries a breeze of ash. It always sounds nicer in Gerard’s imagination. He forgets about the unkept trashcans and the state of the monkey bars. All he remembers is the dark and the silence and looking up, he can almost see the stars. 

He sits in the metaphor, not yet understanding it.

Every time a skateboard clacks down the sidewalk circling the park, Gerard gets a jolt of adrenaline. What does he expect Frank’s presence to give him? Frank is not caffeine or nicotine. He’s just a person. But Frank shows up fifteen minutes later and it’s just as good. If only Gerard weren’t too miserable to notice that. 

Frank is uncharacteristically skateboard-less and takes the stairs to the sandlot. He ignores Gerard’s wave over and launches onto the play structure. He tries for a smooth transition onto the slide but miscalculates. He ends up kamikaze-ing over the edge and into the pine-needle infested sand. His body might not be broken but his pride is. He’s two for two in front of Gerard. 

Gerard feels this is nearly as good as a circus. He slow-claps Frank over to the bench. 

“I’m really starting to doubt your abilities,” he snickers. 

“Good thing I never asked your opinion,” Frank shoots back, picking up the empty pack of Newports and scrunching his nose. Empty. Blah. “Maybe it’s you.”

“What’s that mean?” Gerard asks. He’ll honestly be impressed if he manages to ruin two relationships in one day. 

“Nothing personal. Maybe you’re a bad luck charm.” Frank points at the empty box with a ‘this yours?’ motion. 

“You don’t say,” Gerard mutters, watching Frank pull out his own box of Newports. “You have no idea how unsurprised I’d be.”

Frank uses his own lighter to spark up. “I had a feeling you’d say that. You looked pretty miserable today, dude.”

“It happens.” Gerard decides in a split second that tonight is not the time to open up. After all, it was only yesterday he told Frank off for therapizing him. He gets lost thinking about how fresh everything is. 

“Yeah,” Frank agrees. He’s got memories in his eyes when he stares at the ground. 

Frank is a geode that Gerard wants to crack, but he’s not sure how to grip it. He plays with his hands because the silence is so deafening that it’s all he can do to keep from putting them in his ears. The restless energy makes him stand. 

“Wanna walk?” he asks. It’s weird if he’s the only one standing out of the two of them. 

“I don’t have my board, so you gotta walk slow,” Frank replies.

“The truth comes out,” Gerard snickers. 

“Out of the two of us, who stormed out of the green in tears today?” Frank fires back. He knows that’s probably not a tasteful thing to say, but that’s his intention. He really wants to poke that nerve if it makes the words come out. 

Gerard runs his tongue over his teeth. “Everyone’s got reasons.”

“Ominous.” Frank bumps him gently. “Got stories, Blair Witch?” Frank has mastered the art of mocking people so nicely that the mockeries barely notice. 

Gerard feels the sincerity. “Not for tonight,” he smiles quietly. “You gotta unlock level 2 friendship.” 

“I’ll be here,” Frank says. His eyes are on the road ahead of them and his tone gives the impression he’s speaking to himself. 

Tears well up in Gerard’s eyes. He wonders if Frank sees the same person Bert saw. That would make this doomed from the start. His brain wanders down its own dark street, painting monsters in the woods.

Frank pretends not to notice how sparkly Gerard’s eyes have gotten. The street lights barely illuminate them so it’s not hard to pretend, but Frank has been unnaturally interested in staring into them. 

“Hey.” He stops in his tracks and waits until Gerard makes eye contact. “Ever wanted to learn to skateboard?” Frank latches onto the idea and it suddenly doesn’t matter if Gerard says no. 

“Even if I had,” Gerard laughs, “I don’t think you’re equipped to teach me.”

“Skater code says I have to kill you now. But I like you, so instead I’m going to teach you respe—“ Frank loudly clears his throat. “—how to skate.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Very much so.” 

Gerard stares at the five-foot-nothing gremlin in front of him with the whole night in the balance. A breeze blows Frank’s hair into his eyes, but he doesn’t break eye contact. Gerard would be impressed if he could hear his own thoughts over the sound of his heart beat. He’s so struck by Frank’s passion that he mistakes it for boyish enthusiasm. That doesn’t make him say no, though. 

“A couple bruises might complete my look…” he trails off.

Frank cracks an orange-tinted grin and takes off in the direction of his skate-board. 

Gerard melts onto the sidewalk slowly, watching Frank disappear into the darkness. Honestly, he’s not sure how far back Frank’s house is, but he’s content to wait. He’s left with such a distinct impression that Frank’s coming back, that he doesn’t waste one single second worrying about it. And Frank does come back.


	2. They Don't Make Prosthetics For This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from the breakup. Gerard explains what happened to his friends, makes some new ones, and begins to heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm writing every chapter of this story simultaneously so I apologize if they're confusing!
> 
> lemme know if you enjoyed in the comments below :)

“What’s with the bruises?” Mikey asks, washing out his cereal bowl. 

The night came and went and Gerard was up for all of it. Watching the moon set with Frank was very ethereal but eating cornflakes on eight hours of sleep between two days is not. 

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” Gerard retorts, face down at the table. He has bruises on his elbows, hips, and knees, and bags under his eyes to match. His head throbs as well. 

Gerard’s unpleasant morning doesn’t have shit on how awesome his night had been. He could now stand on a board and tilt to turn without _completely_ eating shit, even though sometimes he still did. Plus, Frank had shown him a way to turn by putting pressure on the back of the board so it lifts up the front wheels, and now Gerard is obsessed with being able to do it. He doesn’t even like skateboarding. 

Mikey cracks a smile. “Just let me know which asshole threw you into a locker so I can avoid them too.”

Gerard lifts his face up enough to scowl. 

“A face only a Bert could love,” Mikey jokes. He doesn’t know. 

Gerard grabs his backpack quickly and leaves skid marks behind him. “Not even that,” he mutters. He’s unsure whether Mikey heard him or not. Doesn’t matter; it still stings. 

Ray meets him in the high school’s parking lot. “What’s your first class again?”

“Math,” Gerard replies unenthusiastically. Ray doesn’t look excited either. 

“Well, I’ll walk you.”

Ray follows him to class silently. He’s very much in contrast with the rest of the school, who all seem to cranked up to eleven. It’s strange for a Tuesday morning. Or maybe, Gerard considers, he’s just being a melancholy person. Ray doesn’t comment on it and his silent solidarity does more to aid Gerard’s nerves than any words could. They end up outside Gerard’s math class five minutes early somehow and Gerard begins to suspect it’s a trap. 

Ray leans against the wall, looking like an airhead, for about thirty seconds before he recalls his train of thought. “Oh, yeah! I was meaning to talk to you about yesterday,” he pauses to gauge Gerard’s reaction.

Gerard tries to keep it cool but underneath his clothes he’s feverish. He wants to deflect but now is probably better than later. 

Ray seems to realize he’s not getting a reply. “Well, you looked upset. Miserable, actually. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s totally fine, but I’m your best friend and that means I’m here for you. If you want that.”

Gerard genuinely smiles a tad. His emotions haven’t recharged enough for a melt down drag out right now. Besides, his night was spent falling so hard he teared up and pretending that the other tears were from pain, too. “Bert broke up with me.” He’s monotone. 

Ray’s face says he already knew that. “I’m so sorry. Why?”

Gerard huffs. “Well, first he cheated on me and lied about it and then decided not to face me for whatever reason and stay at camp all summer, only to come back and tell me he’s straight and that I don’t understand his problems because he’s a junior and I’m too immature to know what he’s going through. Did I miss anything? No, I think that’s it.” Gerard crosses his arms and swallows dryly. 

The bell rings. Ray gives Gerard a hug that lasts a little too long and then walks away. Gerard seethes. He knew he should have waited on the info-dump. Now Ray’s going to have a breakdown in first period. 

He turns into class thinking there’s no happiness in life anymore, only to see Frank sitting at the back of the class with an empty desk next to him. He sees a pretty girl eyeing the seat (and Frank) and Gerard turns into a missile. She gets a little WWE’d during Gerard’s beeline to the chair. 

He sits down and tries his best to ignore everyone staring at him, the weird kid who flung himself across the classroom and total-ed people like cars. He seriously hopes Frank hasn’t noticed his rampage. When he dares to take a look, Frank’s red in the face from holding in his laughter. 

Gerard can’t help but laugh. “Shut up. I needed to talk to you is all.”

Frank loses it and bursts into laughter, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Your face though!” 

Gerard punches him in the arm. “Shut the fuck up,” he laugh-whispers. 

The teacher calls the class to attention and explains the syllabus. She sends a couple unwarranted glances back at Gerard and Frank like she’s already type-casting them as troublemakers. She passes out their assignment and retreats to her desk. 

“So, what was so important that you had to bowling-ball your way through half our class?” Frank asks mockingly. 

“It wasn’t that funny,” Gerard hisses, smiling. 

“It was, but answer the question.”

It’s not until this moment that Gerard realizes how dumb what he has to say is. “Well— I—um,” he stops. Frank’s laughing at him softly. “There’s a whole story behind this but I won’t bore you with that. I wanted to ask if you would like to sit with me and my friends at lunch. If you’ve already got a clique or whatever, that’s cool too. Y’know, it’s whatever. I just remember you saying that all your friends were dicks or something.”

Frank’s mouth is stuck open in a confused smile. “Now I gotta hear the story.”

Not the answer Gerard was hoping for. He’s really dug himself deep this time. “Last year my table group was really lit and now they’re all off doing other things and the few of us left have to… fill in the gaps, I guess. It’s a little hard to replace Joe and Andy but they’ve made it plenty clear they’re invested in Star Wars club, so—“

Frank loses his shit again. The teacher shushes both of them. When she turns her back, Frank flips her off. He can’t stand to watch funny people get smothered by authority. 

“Answer the question, asshole.” Gerard scribbles his name on the paper and decides that’s enough for the day. 

“Yeah, sure, I’ll check out your nerd party,” Frank quips offhandedly. 

“Please, by all means continue having no friends and eating alone if you’d prefer,” Gerard fires back lightly. He’s getting the sense that the teacher is noticing the lack of work occurring in the back row. Well, it’s only the second day, he rationalizes, he can afford to slack off. 

“Where do you guys congregate?” Frank asks.

“Your mom’s room,” Gerard snickers. 

Frank kicks Gerard’s chair and spills him onto the floor. Gerard hucks his pencil case and Frank ducks magnificently out of the way. Gerard, laughing more than he can remember doing all summer, reaches for more things to throw. Frank knocks over his own chair and turns it into a barricade. The teacher screams from her desk but Gerard can’t hear her and doesn’t particularly care to either. 

A pair of arms pulls Gerard up from the floor and away from Frank. He blows Frank a kiss and laughs, “For your mom.”

“Aww,” coos some corner-dwelling, Sunday football watching jerk, “gonna make out?”

Gerard supposes he didn’t catch the part about Gerard fucking Frank’s mom, but oh, well. Gerard isn’t the type to escalate these types of situations. Someone else sure is. 

“Why? You wanna jerk off to it?” Frank throws back. 

Gerard bursts out laughing before he can stop himself. 

Seconds later Frank is shouldering his backpack and walking to the principal's office. Gerard is following. 

It isn't like him to get in trouble. Getting yelled at makes him anxious (but by God he could move hell if he wanted to). Yet somehow it isn’t bad this time. He’s still laughing with Frank as they walk to the bad kid’s bench outside the principal’s office. 

“Staring the year off right,” Frank snickers, sporting his token crazy grin. He sinks down on the bench like he’s done this a million times.

He’s so vibrant, Gerard thinks. How does he do this? Gerard doesn’t care because he’s concerned, he cares because he wants to learn. He’s always yearned to have fun like this, and now he’s fairly certain he’s found the right teacher. 

“I could do this all year,” Gerard admits, mostly to himself. 

“We’re not just restricting it to moonlit walks anymore?” Frank asks. 

“I did fight to sit next to you today. I think that counts for something.” 

Frank laughs at the memory. “Yeah, that’s definitely still funny. The look on your face when you saw Jamia gunning for that seat. _Murderous_. It was too good.”

“You know her?” Gerard asks before he can stop himself. Great, now he sounds like a stalker. 

Frank goes red. “Yeah, I’d say so. It’s more friends-with-benefits, though.”

Gerard is so caught off guard that he just laughs. “Sorry if I cock-blocked you, dude.” 

Frank man-spreads to the max by putting a leg on Gerard’s lap. “Nah, it’s fine. Tell me more about the weirdos I’ll be meeting for lunch today.”

Gerard bursts into stories about his friends (excluding Mikey out of courtesy) to avoid getting stuck on the subtext. (How is he supposed to not think about Frank saying he’s single and then dropping his leg on Gerard’s lap?) He forcefully locks those thoughts away and focuses on revealing the worst shit about his friends he can. Frank seems interested. That’s a pretty good distraction.

~

The principal ends up not being too mad and lets them go after giving them one after school detention. The best part was that they waited out front for so long that they completely missed their next class and are released directly to lunch. That was a score, Gerard thinks. 

“Damn, we got lucky. Last year she gave me a week of detention for _one_ skate trick in the parking lot,” Frank sighs. 

“I guess I’m not a bad luck charm then,” Gerard ventures. 

“Maybe,” Frank shrugs. “You’re not the worst thing I’ve ever found on the side of the road at midnight.”

Gerard scoffs. “Great, I’ll add that to my college resume.” He really wants to know who or what else Frank has found under such circumstances. Shouts from the cafeteria distract him before he can ask.

He scans the room for his friends and his eyes fly right over his usual table. Gerard has low expectations for the turnout, which is why it takes him a considerable amount of time to realize that the huge group of annoyingly loud kids at the table by the door are his _friends_. 

“Don’t tell me your friends are imaginary,” Frank says after Gerard makes a face. 

“Unfortunately,” he sighs. “They’re not.” No, he thinks, this is not happening. This is just too much to handle for the whole year.

“What the fuck happened?” he blurts, standing at the head of the table, which, he just now notices, is now two tables pinned together. 

Brendon clears his throat and takes a stand. “It turns out we all have more friends than we thought. You see, I invited Ryan, and he invited Spencer and Dallon and Jon.” 

The aforementioned wave nervously at Gerard.

“And I invited Hayley,” Lindsey carries over. “Pete invited—“

“I can speak,” he interrupts. 

“We know,” Mikey grumbles to himself. 

“I invited Meagan, who invited Sarah,” Pete explains. 

Gerard shoots a glare at Brendon, but he’s far too busy gushing over Sarah to notice. 

“I invited Josh from biology,” Patrick pipes up. 

“Is that his full name?” Brendon asks. “Josh From Biology?”

“Fuck you,” Patrick retorts. “And he invited a kid named Tyler, but…”

“He said no,” Josh finishes. His eyes say he totally gets why. 

Gerard conveys a _same here_ look to Frank. On the other hand, he’s here now and might as well give these obnoxious and rambunctious people a chance. He borrows two chairs from a neighboring and wedges them in. Frank takes the leftover one, spins it around, and straddles it. He holds the front like it’s the only thing holding him to this life. 

“Oh, I totally forgot,” Ray pipes up. Gerard hasn’t noticed who’s sitting next to Ray. “This is my friend, Bob.” Ray sends Gerard a very pointed _sorry, but you can yell at me later_ look and sits back down. 

God, Gerard fucking hates Bob. Bob is just a blob of annoying, devil’s advocate-playing, shit-talking, offensive joke making cretin, in Gerard’s humble opinion. If Gerard’s being perfectly honest, he’s not sure if they’ve ever had a whole conversation, just the two of them, but the trailers of Bob he saw throughout freshman year were enough. So lost in his brewing hatred, Gerard spaces out until it’s too quiet for his liking. 

There’s a few fading strands of leftover conversation but seconds later they evaporate. The table is left in uncomfortable silence as everyone is noticeably giddy. Something about the amalgamation of them all works well, even with the silence so awkward. Gerard—the miserable lump he is—can feel it too. Something about this is right. 

“Well, I think I’ll just start things off,” Brendon announces, “Josh, what color is your nipple?”

The table explodes before Josh can even start to process that one. When it settles, he replies, “Well, I have two nipples, Brendon, but I’ve been told they’ve average color.” Josh says it like he’s not sure if it’s a statement or a question. 

“Good,” Brendon mutters. “How long have you had two nipples?” He pulls out a notebook and pen and the table descends into chaos. 

Josh puts on a thoughtful face. “Nearly my whole life, I think. Why, have you more or less nips?”

“This isn’t about me,” Brendon states, stealing Patrick’s glasses. “And do you often rub them with cream cheese? The nipples, I mean.”

“Oh, yes,” Josh replies, struggling to keep an honest appearance. He nearly loses it when he says, “Frequently.”

Brendon scribbles some more, nodding approvingly. “Wonderful. I think we’ll get along stellar.” He shakes Josh’s hand and then the table moves into experimental chatter. 

Frank leans closer to Gerard. “Are they always like this?”

Gerard’s hope of maintaining some sliver of reputation shatters. In a last ditch effort, he replies, “I’ve never met these people.”

Frank’s look of horror slowly melts into a smile. “Oh. I only asked ‘cuz they’re kinda fucking hilarious.”

_In that case_ , Gerard thinks. “Well, Ray’s my best friend, we’re basically one consciousness just sharing two host bodies. AndPatrickisanoldfriend.” 

“What?” Frank asks.

“Patrick.” Gerard leaves it at that. “Lindsey’s a friend from childhood and basically my sister. Mikey is my actual brother, and I guess I know Pete since Patrick knows him, but I really only met him yesterday.”

Speaking of Pete, he’s sitting close to Mikey today. Not close as in nearby, close as in practically on his lap. Gerard knows that shouldn’t immediately incriminate him but for some reason it does. A host of reminders pop up from the rational part of Gerard’s brain; Mikey’s not gay, Pete’s just like that, you’re being overprotective, blah, blah. After the nipple conversation, Gerard’s over rationality. 

But in the three days that Gerard’s known Pete it’s been made exceedingly clear that Pete’s just a charismatic person. Maybe Gerard’s problem is that he doesn’t think Pete’s energy and Mikey’s reserved nature will mix well. Then again, the outcome is not up to him and the feeling of not having control starts to rattle him. 

During his sabbatical from consciousness, Gerard stares at Mikey. Mikey doesn’t know that Gerard is completely absent behind the eyes, and assumes he is doing some nonverbal pat-down for brotherly reasons. Mikey throws it back in his face by glaring extra hard back at him, but stops dead when he notices Frank. 

Because Mikey wasn’t listening to the whole “go around in a circle and introduce yourself” moment, and definitely missed Frank the first time around. Which is strange because Mikey knows Frank. 

“Gerard,” he monotones.

It takes Gerard a few seconds to snap back to reality. 

“Gerard.”

“What?”

“Why do you have Frank hostage?”

“I don’t!” He stares at Mikey, wondering why he’s pitching such a fit. The next few thoughts happen sequentially and not fast enough.

Why would he even care? 

Mikey doesn’t know Frank.

It registers that Mikey definitely knows _a_ Frank, they’ve been friends for, like, five whole years, but there’s no way, right? 

“Wait…”

Gerard’s breath comes short and panic rises in his chest. Having to delete another contact this week would do some serious psychic damage. Frank’s staring at him like _they’re_ the ones who are strangers.

But that’s not it at all, Frank’s looking at the two of them so intensely because he’s finally seeing the similarities in their faces. Next to each other it’s obvious they’re siblings, but Frank wasn’t given that cushion to begin with. Aside from embarrassment, there are other feelings swimming around in Frank. He hasn’t got names for some of them and he’s much too scared to ask now. 

“Yeah,” Mikey finally says. “So, why did you bring my best friend Frank?”

“Um, why didn’t you?” Gerard snaps back. “If he’s your best friend.”

“I wasn’t supposed to bring anybody, asshole. The whole point of this was for you fucking nerds to flex all three of your collective friends.”

Gerard thought he really nerfed Mikey with that one, but Mikey can out-bitch anybody. And now he’s suspicious, even though there’s nothing to be suspicious of. Taken out of context, Gerard can see how the night walks might look but even those aren’t too questionable. Fortunately, he’s saved before Mikey can systematically dissect him.

“Wow, bold words from the kid who had a Magic The Gathering themed birthday party in seventh grade,” Lindsey whistles. 

“Yeah!” Brendon adds in, “Me and my whores are infinitely cooler than you. Don’t think we forgot you’re a freshman.”

Mikey weathers the storm like a caged zoo animal, barely acknowledging the children yelling at it from the other side of the bars. He thinks about getting up and leaving but he’s got nowhere better to be. Day two of high school and he’s sealed his fate—he’s doomed to sit with these nerds for the rest of his life. 

“But it’s okay, we forgive you,” Pete adds in. “Preemptively.”

“For what?” Mikey asks incredulously.

“This time next year, you’ll look back and realize that we were so great to you! That we gave you the best life we could. And you will be grateful to us and kiss our feet.”

“You’re disgusting,” Mikey replies, putting his head back on the table. 

“I hate to say it, but I agree with Pete,” Spencer pipes up. “Everyone is annoying in freshman year.” 

Gerard snorts as the conversation continues. He supposes Spencer’s right. 

“You know what? I’ve had enough of the youth disrespecting authority. We need to put the freshman in their place,” says Meagan. “All they do is stand in the hallways so I can’t get where I need to go!”

“Just today I was trying to get to my locker and some twerp with green hair tried to tell me it was their locker. Like, bitch I have been 31-22-19-ing this piece of shit for a year and a half, step off,” Ryan agrees. 

“Oh, that’s Awsten,” Mikey says. “He’s not too bad.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re making friends in your own class since we’re so terrible,” Pete mocks, “but I personally think we should haze you anyway.”

“You’re not hazing my brother!” Gerard protests. 

Mikey holds the glare Pete’s giving him. “I can handle myself, Gee.”

“It’s decided then,” Brendon states. “The council will give you three tasks to complete by winter break at the latest. If you fail, we will cast you out onto the street to cohabitate with the likes of Awsten.”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “Awsten’s kinda cool, actually—“

“COUNCIL! Confer with me.” Brendon points at Spencer and Lindsey and the three of them huddle by the trash cans for a few minutes. A couple kids just trying to recycle milk cartons send them agitated looks. 

Pete's eyeing up the council like it's his life goal to be part of it.

The council disperses back to the table and Brendon rubs his hands with malicious intent. “Mikey, are you ready to begin your quests?”

“I hate you.”

“First, you must break into the school at night.”

“Done.”

“Then you must survive one of my parties, the details of which are bound in blood and vomit.”

“Fine, whatever.”

“AND FINALLY,” Brendon shouts in an extremely poor British accent. “You must take a lover, in the park by school, in broad daylight.”

“I’m not doing that!” Mikey protests. “That’s, like, _so_ many felonies.”

“Oh, and breaking into the school at night isn’t?” Pete taunts. 

Mikey scrutinizes him silently and the judgement is enough to make him drop the subject entirely. 

“Don’t worry,” Brendon says. “The fates just might align.”

“You’re fucking demented,” Mikey sighs, rubbing his face.

“Listen, I don’t make the rules. Andy and the rest of the football team made me do these things last year, and since I don’t see anyone else stepping up to keep the tradition alive, I might as well.” Brendon crosses his arms, looking around proudly. “Still can’t believe none of you had to do it. Gerard, no?”

Gerard glares up at Brendon. “Nope.”

“Really? I thought McCracken maybe…”

Gerard steels. “Never.”

It’s in that moment that Gerard decides he doesn’t want to have to hear about Bert ever again. This lunch table has always been his safe space. It’s the one thing he refuses to let Bert ruin.

“What about Patrick? Joe never made you—WAIT A SECOND!” Brendon shrieks. “Guess who else is legally a freshman?” He waits a second before pointing a finger at Pete. 

“Untrue.”

“Yes, true, bitch! This is your first year here and by _law_ —“

The bell rings but Pete’s fate has been sealed in stone. And blood and vomit. 

Frank follows Gerard most of the way to his next class, even though Frank isn’t in it. 

“So, is lunch always like that?” he asks.

“Um, not really. We all made a plan to help Mikey make friends so usually there’s not that many people. It was fun, though.”

“Yeah,” Frank smiles, walking backward toward his class. “It was. Hopefully I’m invited again.”

Gerard can’t stop staring at the stupid fucking smile on Frank’s face. “You’re always invited from now on.”

Frank grins even wider. Then he walks away, leaving Gerard breathless. 

“You okay?” Ray asks, appearing out of nowhere behind Gerard.

“Um, yeah.”

Ray half-nods but doesn’t keep the conversation flowing in case Gerard has more to say. And for once, he does.

“Could you come over after schoo—“

“Yes.” Ray swallows him in a hug. 

“Uh, thanks. Could you ask Linds and Brendon too?”

Ray pats him on the shoulder. “”Course.”

Gerard’s relieved that that’s over with, but there’s still more to come.

When the final bell releases the captives of East High at 3:30, Gerard leaves school in a human shield. He’s sure it’s intentional, with Lindsey and Ray on either side and Mikey in the front, scouting ahead. Brendon walks behind them, making sure there won’t be any sneak attacks. That’s how it works in DND and in basic survival tactics—you put the weakest in the middle. But it’s not bothersome to him so he says nothing about it. 

The five of them walk home together, chatting about anything that isn’t the elephant in the room. It’s getting awfully hard by the time they turn onto Gerard’s block, because there’s only so many topics to exhaust. Unlocking the door and settling in takes too little time and soon it’s as awful as ever. 

The dust has barely settled back on the furniture by the time Gerard feels his soul slipping out of his body. He has everyone in his basement room. They should be talking and laughing, pulling out their phones and sharing memes, but no. Everyone is silent, laying on the floor or on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It’s been another minute before Brendon asks,

“Gerard, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Gerard feigns ignorance. “Huh? Nothing.”

“Then why aren’t you boring us by talking about DND incessantly? You always do that,” Lindsey asks. She doesn’t show a lot of emotion at the best of times, but there’s real concern in the lines of her face. 

It doesn’t seem like Gerard can put this off any longer. God, he wants to. He wants to act normal for his sake, but he can’t say that without admitting he’s going through it. He might be able to force everyone to leave but he doesn’t feel like he’s got it in him. Plus, he can’t kick Mikey out. Mikey lives here too. 

“If you don’t want to talk…” _You don’t have to_. Yes, he does. They all know it. He knows keeping it in will only make it worse later on. Shutting them out isn’t a consequence-free option either. 

He untucks the hair from behind his ears so it falls in his face. “Guys, it’s really not…” In their faces he sees their suspension of disbelief has withered. He tries to clear his throat subtly but the phlegm catches and he ends up coughing. With a wince he composes himself. “It just… Bert—“ his voice breaks. Some days, that’s all it takes. He’s reminded that this has happened before. Bert has reduced him to this before. 

Lindsey crawls over and puts her arms around him. She doesn’t say anything. Her grip and the strength of her embrace are enough. Gerard tucks his face in her shoulder and cries. Harder than he did at lunch. Harder than he has in quite some time. But again, it’s not the first time. More arms envelope him, he only cries harder. 

Every sob sesh’ he has—this won’t be the last—is only an homage to all he’s lost, dragging him back into painful memories he’d rather forget. It’s been under thirty-six hours and he already feels like he’s beating a dead horse by acknowledging his emotions. There it is again, the anger. Underneath all the misery is wrath, but without a target it’ll simmer until he explodes. That is to say that he’s not mad at Bert, actually, he understands where Bert came from. But that doesn’t make him able to feel okay about it. 

Lindsey rubs his back in soft circles until he stops shaking. She pulls his hair out of his face when it sticks to his tear-stained skin. It’s the first thing she says that finally convinces Gerard he’ll be okay eventually, “What do you want to do?” The unspoken _we’ll be with you, no matter what_ is the dedication for the last tears Gerard cries that day. 

They end up sending Ray and Brendon to the corner store for junk food while Mikey ventures in search of the stupid Netflix password. Gerard’s TV always eats it. That leaves Gerard and Lindsey on the carpet, pressed against the wall. Gerard’s neck is sore from leaning on her shoulder but there’s no way in hell he’s moving. 

His tears have dried into salty lines on his face and his nose has ceased to run. His heart still aches and his thoughts are still malicious and self deprecating. It could be an improvement, but it doesn’t feel that way. 

“They knew this was going to happen,” he whispers. 

“They’re cynical people,” she replies, pulling her knees toward her chest. 

“They were right, though.” Gerard isn’t sure why he’s saying these things. Maybe it’s like talking about a nightmare, like somehow it helps subconsciously. Maybe he’s just still mad. “If you did, you never said anything. Thank you for that.”

Lindsey shifts her weight. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic…”

“I’m not. If you had said something, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now. I’d be upset with you for being right, and pissed at myself for being stupid and blind.” Ah. That’s what he needed to realize. 

“Is that why you kicked them all out?” There’s an undertone of humor in her voice. 

Gerard smiles. “They’re coming back.”

Lindsey laughs to herself silently. The stairs in the hall creak as presumably Mikey descends. 

“I don’t think you were stupid or blind. I think your relationship with he who shalt not be named was a phase that he grew out of a lot faster. Maybe he saw cracks in the ice and was too scared to face them.”

“But he didn’t have to blow it all up.”

“Should he have talked to you about them instead of taking drastic action? Yes. Would that conversation have guaranteed a smooth landing? No. And based on what you’ve told me, I don’t think it would have changed anything. I’m sorry, Gee.”

It’s harsh on the ears and the heart, but Gerard knows she’s right. He can’t keep painting Bert as the villain forever, lest he begins to truly believe it. He grasps that and tangles with it on his own for a few seconds. _It’s both of your faults but neither of you did anything_ is too big a pill to swallow. All she said is true, but, Gerard thinks to himself, maybe he’s not ready to admit that yet.

Mikey drops back in with the password in hand and not fifteen minutes later Brendon and Ray return with a grocery bag full of snacks. Everyone’s buckling down for the long haul when Gerard says,

“New rule, okay? Let’s not talk about Bert anymore.”

“Put his ass in the burn book,” Brendon smiles. “I think we’ve got that covered.”

“Fuck him,” Lindsey agrees, tossing back a hand full of popcorn. 

Gerard pulls a blanket over himself and Lindsey as the desolation begins to fade. 

Brendon’s known Gerard for about a year now, and he’s seen how resilient he can be. In freshman year the principal caught him smoking after a field trip and nearly skinned him alive, but Gerard convinced his mom it was Lindsey’s inhaler so he got off easy. At the end of last year when Bert told him he was leaving for the summer, Brendon thought he was going to commit a war crime. Gerard drowned the pain out with online DND and drawing gruesome imagery. He got over it. Brendon knows he’ll get over this too, even though it looks pretty downcast. His phone buzzes in his pocket. 

“Um,” Brendon clears his throat. “Patrick wants to know if he can come over.”

“Why did he text _you_?” Mikey asks, squinting disapprovingly. 

Brendon types on his phone. “He says that he texted Gee but he didn't reply. Did you block him?’’

Gerard rolls his eyes. “No, dip-shit. My phone’s in my backpack.” 

Patrick is not the person Gerard wants to see right now. He’s had enough sympathy for one, and two, he’s doubtful Patrick would be sympathetic at all. Whether Patrick is sympathetic or not, Gerard is going to be pissed off at him. That’s not a great mindset to begin with. 

In the very beginning freshman year, quite prior to Bert, Gerard met this short, chubby kid that totally looked like he should play a trombone, even if he didn’t. Patrick met a strange, emo kid with hair so greasy it could’ve been wet. They had roughly half of their classes together, and gravitated toward one another out of necessity. Thinking back, Gerard was unclear how either of them mustered it up to start a relationship but that’s exactly what had happened. It was almost immediately followed by Patrick questioning his sexuality so hard that he went full circle and decided he might be straight after all. 

All in all, it could’ve ended worse. At least they’re still friends. Still, Patrick isn’t Gerard’s first pick for his support network. 

“So should I tell him no?” Brendon asks. 

Gerard looks around for opinions but no one here really knows the situation like he does, except maybe Ray. Ultimately, it is Gerard’s choice. “No,” he decides, solely on the basis that this will be harder to explain at any point in the future. “He can come, I don’t care.”

“Sounds like you d—“

Lindsey smacks the back of Brendon’s neck. 

“Yeah, okay,” Brendon mutters, fending her off. 

Patrick shows up fifteen minutes later, unaware of the happenings that came before him. He sends Gerard an unassuming glance upon entering the room, and is none the wiser. It’s clear that Gerard’s been off the shits all day but Patrick figures he’s PMS-ing or something. When everyone else targeted Bert immediately, Patrick didn’t. It’s handy that he actively avoids thinking about Bert. 

“So what’s the haps?” Patrick asks, sitting at Gerard’s desk. It’s messy, lots of half-scribbled notes are uncovered, like someone dumped a recycling bin on top of all the usual clutter. He’s sure the answers to his questions are in the writings but it’s not his place to look. 

“Not much. We’re watching Netflix and lamenting the end of summer,” Lindsey replies, draping a hand across her forehead dramatically. 

Patrick hides a smile and slides off the chair, groaning in sympathy. “Fuck, I can’t believe it’s over already.”

“I know,” Brendon sighs. “Seems like just yesterday I was throwing the end of year party. I remember vividly Spencer puking into my lap. And then bam!—summer’s just a blank spot. And now it’s school. That’s some glitch in the matrix shit.”

“Okay, Brendon,” Mikey snickers sarcastically, “or you just partied too hard.”

“Nonsense. There’s no such thing.”

“Stop telling the youngling lies,” Lindsey laughs, “Mikey, there’s absolutely such thing as partying too hard. I remember one time I got really hammered and called Meagan crying because Hayley wouldn’t get an abortion. She wasn’t even pregnant.”

Even though it felt impossible fifteen minutes ago, Gerard bursts out laughing. “What the fuck? How come you never told me that before?!”

“That came from the depths of my memory. I don’t think I actually remembered it until just now.” Lindsey shrugs. “Which absolutely proves my point, Mikey.”

“I think I was actually there,” Patrick says. “Was that the one where we ended up at a playground and no one knew how we got there?”

Ray scratches his head. “I think so. I remember someone hanging from the monkey bars and falling onto their face. I bet it was fucking Jimmy. I miss that guy.”

Jimmy was Lindsey’s closest friend, second to Gerard. They only attended school together for a year but he’d made it one to remember. 

“He nearly broke his collarbone,” Lindsey reminisces. “What a legend.”

“That night could’ve been so perfect,” Brendon groans, running a hand through his hair. 

“What happened?” Mikey asks. He hadn’t been there; Gerard forbade him from going to parties until ninth grade. Mikey easily would’ve ignored that but he didn’t know how to get to the parties without Gerard. It had sucked big time. 

“Someone thought it would be funny as fuck to call the police. Seriously, the one time we _don’t_ get a noise complaint, some dickhead decides to fuck it all up,” Lindsey replies. 

“Did you have to run from the cops?” Mikey asks, mystified. 

“Yep,” Ray pops the ‘p’. “Gee and I hid in this random house’s garden for twenty minutes. Scariest moment of my life.” 

“Who was it again?” asks Gerard. The most he remembers from that night was throwing up on some poor person’s stairs. He also wound up with clip on earrings in the morning. He’s never figured out where or who they came from but he still has them. 

“I bet it was Bob,” Lindsey muses.

“No way. Don’t you remember? It was totally Bert,” Patricks laughs.

The room goes quiet. The sounds of Henry Cavill slaying beasts on the TV fills the otherwise silent room with guttural groaning. Gerard won’t look up from the floor until someone moves the conversation forward. It’s surreal for Patrick, who’s starting to put the puzzle together. Before the question leaves his lips, it’s answered.

“Bert broke up with me,” Gerard states flatly. 

It’s not a shock. “Oh. I’m sorry.” Patrick truly means it but he knows Gerard’s not going believe him no matter how he says it. 

“Why are you sorry?” Gerard asks. He’s too tired to afford this fight but the bitterness jumps to the bit before he can compose himself. 

Gerard’s under the impression that Patrick is happy that they broke up, which is a totally misguided idea. Patrick has long since moved on and Gerard has too. But their relationship is a scab that just won’t scar yet and Gerard’s in the mood to worsen the gash. 

Patrick doesn’t want to take the bait. “I thought he made you happy,” he answers honestly. 

Gerard’s gutted. “I thought so too.”

Then it’s a race to see who will cry first. It ends up being Gerard, unsurprisingly, but Patrick’s eyes are misty too. Out of everything he could be sad about, he’s mostly upset about what Gerard said. Not about the ending to their story, not about the argument, but about how hurt his friend is. Patrick spent too much of freshman year petty and bitter, and he doesn’t have the capacity for that anymore. Patrick isn’t sure if Gerard is there yet or not but regardless he deserves to be treated with kindness in Patrick’s mind. 

Patrick scoots a little closer. He keeps his voice low even though the rest of the party is near enough to hear the softest of whispers. “Can I hug you?”

Gerard answers by throwing his arms around Patrick and holding onto him for dear life. Most of his misery has been cried out already but being heard and cared for by Patrick opens up new vats of sadness. He’s the one loose end in Gerard’s life and if even for a second that weight is lifted, it’s a miracle.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick whispers. He runs a hand through Gerard’s hair. “I really am.”

The tears stop long before Gerard lets go. Patrick is stable and solid in this tsunami of existence and even if the hug goes on for way too long, every second is beneficial to Gerard. He feels grounded, like his head is scotch-taped on his neck again. 

Then equally as suddenly as Gerard pulled him in, he pushes him back and returns to his safety blanket. Lindsey drapes it over his legs and kisses the side of his head. The room has an energy of desolation—it’s quiet like a desert, depressive. No one, particularly Gerard, speaks because there’s nothing upbeat worth saying.

There is one thing he’d like to say, though it doesn’t include anyone in the room. Once everyone wipes the tears from their cheeks and finds their way back into the winding plot of the show, he digs his phone out of his backpack. 

Gerard: thx for coming to lunch today. hope it wasn’t too terrible

Miserable Pissbaby: watching u squirm was the highlight of my day

Gerard flushes and shuts his phone off abruptly. After he regains his rationality, he re-opens his phone. 

Gerard: watching u forget you’re best friends with my brother was pretty good too 

Miserable Pissbaby: he’s skinny

Gerard: THAT’S ur reasoning?

Miserable Pissbaby: i think sometimes he just evaporates

Gerard: fades into the shadows, more like

Miserable Pissbaby: i guess it runs in the family. that and the greasy hair

Gerard: you know what else runs in the family? 

Miserable Pissbaby: …what

Gerard: being over five foot

Miserable Pissbaby: I’m gonna throw u into a fucking locker

Gerard: learned from experience, have u?

Miserable Pissbaby: shut ur ass up, Yoda

Gerard’s midway into calling Frank a nerd when Frank double-texts.

Miserable Pissbaby: gtg, Jamia is calling

Gerard almost calls him a slave to women but decides last-minute not to be an incel and turns off his phone instead. He leaves it on his chest for two reasons: one, so that in case Frank texts back, no seconds will be lost, and two, so that the radiation will cut his lifespan shorter. It has gotta start pulling its weight against the cigarettes. 

He catches Ray looking at his phone with his face all scrunched up, like he’s wondering who in the ever-loving hell Gerard could be texting that isn’t in this room. Ray absently meets Gerard’s eyes for a second, then looks away quickly when he realizes he’s been caught. 

Gerard still doesn’t know why he refrained from mentioning Frank to Ray. They met at lunch so at least that's over with, but Gerard is left with curiosity as to why he hesitated in the first place. Unpacking that feels like a chore. And it’s definitely not a chore for right now. 

It’s hard to tell how much time is passing in the dimly lit room, what with the deep red curtain over the single window, so when Lindsey is recalled for dinner, Gerard’s not ready to let her go. 

He lets her go. He lets Patrick and Brendon and even Ray follow. Ray offers to stay the night but Gerard can’t in good conscience sign him up for a night of pretending not to hear muffled sobbing. 

Mikey stands awkwardly in the doorway of Gerard’s room after, noting to himself how vacant it feels with just Gerard in it. “Is there anything I can do?” he asks quietly.

“No.”

He turns to leave but dreads how lonely it’ll feel once he’s left. Gerard said earlier that he’s got nothing left to cry out, but feeling empty with no output can be so much worse. Mikey knows this. He doubles back around and uncrosses his arms. He picks at his fingernails while he thinks. 

“You know you’re gonna live, right?”

Gerard makes a face and rolls his eyes.

“That’s not what I…” he huffs. “You’re gonna be able to be happy without him. School won’t feel so lonely eventually. The regrets are gonna fade and… it’ll all just be bullet points in your memory. You’re gonna be free and happy again. Maybe not soon, but not never.”

“It doesn’t feel ephemeral, Mikes.”

Mikey blanks for a second. It’s hard to talk to Gerard when he’s upset because he gets all poetic and half the time Mikey can’t follow. “You’re gonna be okay. You’ve always been so alive… you’re gonna feel like that again one day. Don’t forget that.”

Gerard swallows and nods. “Thank you.” He wants to ask what happened to give Mikey that intuition but Mikey leaves the door open and disappears up the stairwell. His footsteps creak on the steps above the basement ceiling. 

Gerard sentences himself to bed without dinner due to a lack of motivation to go get any. For someone so empty, he's not hungry at all. His evening is spent half-assedly filling out math homework until he’s bleary enough to pass out. Nightmares fill the backs of his eyelids while he awaits unconsciousness. He’s died, been left behind, and been passed over every possible way before the dreaded sleep finds him. 

Maybe, if there is a God out there, they take pity on Gerard; because he falls asleep like he’s succumbing to death by firing squad. But this time he’s granted a one-way trip to somewhere other than hell.

Gerard dreams of summer streets. His dreams are in vivid color; the sky in particular is painted a melange of reds and oranges. As day melts into night, his pupils—black holes that he himself nearly falls into—contract to accommodate the darkness. His footfalls are heavy against the cement, trailing behind him like invisible slug slime. The orange light bulbs cast dim imitations of the sky’s past glory. He’s never liked walking, but this isn’t a task, it’s an excursion. He takes every step as he chooses, freed from day, free from life. Yet he is so alive. 

He could walk forever, but he’d catch up with the city eventually. Where the stalactites obscure the moon’s rays and the dust from the stars catches on roofs instead of his face. Where the white light of unhappy people shines on the pavement, and where he is flooded by the allure of living, even at this hour. 

Gerard dips down onto a path barely wide enough for him. On the city side it drops down into cubicles, lame office music, and the gentle sounds of dissatisfaction. Rampant pen clicking, clear throats cleared again and again, and muffled sirens, reminding everyone of the time they are wasting. On the left side of the path falls a pacific slope of rocks and moss, leading into a labyrinth of trees. It’s too dark to see the shadows existing deeper within. Gerard finds his path ending at the bank of a lake. 

With no conscious deliberation, Gerard takes off his shoes and slips into the water. It laps at his calves, soaking through his jeans. It’s not cold enough to be a bother, and it never goes above his knees. For a moment he can see neither the embankment he’s left or the one he’s searching for. He’s scared of being pulled under, doubtless there are creatures waiting for him to stop and sink, so he walks on. 

A mass of land protrudes from the water with brown sand and trees so damp they drip on Gerard. He’s not sure who he’s found, but he’s definitely not alone on the island. It feels almost like a rain forest but he’s heard those have more life. Aside from the trees so tall they’re dissolved by fog fifteen feet above and the grass low and trimmed on the ground, there’s nothing. 

Out of the relative silence comes the sound of wheels cracking on pavement. It’s odd. As far as Gerard can see, right and left, there’s no cement. But when he looks behind him, he’s been on it for miles. Forward too, there’s a trail of pavement, complete with the yellow stripe. There’s a clatter nearby.

Is that really…? 

Frank sits on the pavement, his board rolling away from him. It drops off the pavement and sinks into the soft ground. They watch it sink. 

“I guess it’s just us then,” Frank says. Gerard understands him, but he knows Frank’s not speaking English. It’s no language he’s heard of before. The more he looks, the more Frank is nothing he’s seen before either. 

He changes shape like a mirage. His eyes are the color of the forest and he’s soaking wet. For a second he looks like Bert but it fades just as fast as the scenery does. As Gerard joins him, finally just as soaked by the run-off as Frank is, the jungle retreats. Gerard can’t look at anything other than Frank because he just can’t recognize him. It’s Frank, it’s gotta be. It doesn’t look like anyone else, no, it looks like everyone else. Everything else. Everything Gerard has ever loved, which is weird because, no, that’s just Frank. But his eyes are shining, and he’s smiling so naturally, like this is exactly the moment he’s been waiting for. 

Gerard’s smiling too. When he looks away, the wilderness is gone and they’re merely in the middle of a suburban street. The orange lights are back, casting Frank in a glow, finally making him look human. Everything is back to normal, just as things are on their nightly walks. Except Frank is still everything he’s ever loved. And Gerard is so, so alive. 

He wakes up with clear thoughts and tear drops on his pillow.


	3. Cigarette Smoke and Jungle Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months have passed since the break up, giving Gerard a lot of time to think. All of this thinking leads to some new cognizance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a lil lengthy, folks. and yes, it takes place over the course of one day. if u enjoyed plz let me know in the comments, y'all are my only motivation lol
> 
> WARNING: DO NOT SMOKE NICOTINE! IT WILL FUCK YOU UP AND KILL YOU.

He wakes up with clear thoughts and tear drops on his pillow. Every day, for every month that follows. It's been three. When he thinks about how long it’s been, he can see Mikey in his mind, holding up three fingers with a look on his face that just says, “Really?”. 

Three months. He thinks he’s getting better but he’s unclear on the metric for counting tears. On the other hand he’s only happy when he’s walking with Frank or watching soap operas with Lindsey and Ray. Getting better is a black-or-white deal, he’s either healing or he’s not, or so he’s been told. 

Mikey made him start going to the school’s shrink. He guilt trips himself for even thinking of her as that—just a _shrink_ , like that’s something derogatory. But she’s the one telling him that he’s either getting into shape or all bent out of it, and that logic just doesn’t follow through. Coping might more accurately describe what Gerard is doing with his time (chain-smoking, eating cartons of ice cream, and the like) and coping isn’t healing. 

“Fuck shrinks,” Gerard says. He’ll heal when his body can afford it. Right now, coping is enough. 

“Shrink bad, mental health fine!” Mikey replies in his best caveman accent. 

“And fuck you too,” Gerard shoots back. 

“I’m telling Kathleen you watched seven seasons of Grey’s Anatomy in three weeks,” Lindsey snickers over her lunch. 

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Gerard lightly covers his ears with his hands. “What Kathleen doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Patrick tilts his head and shrugs. “I think you vastly misunderstand the point of therapy.”

Gerard tightens his grip on his ears. Clearly the therapy _is_ working, at least to some extent. Otherwise he would’ve snapped Patrick’s stupid neck in half by now. But to be fair, his urge to murder Patrick is not the reason he’s in counseling. In the three months that have passed since Bert broke up with him, Gerard has sapped every drop of emotion from his limbic system and in doing that he’s learned a lot. More than any teacher or any fucking shrink could teach him. 

What’s taught him most has been the mere struggle to exist. To exist as a human is to experience time and growth. Whether he’s growing up or down or diagonally, he doesn’t care because at least he is changing. He can’t stand to be the same person that Bert broke up with. Time can never un-break his heart, but it’ll take the pain away. The pain is replaced, unit by unit, by unfamiliarity. 

And by insecurity—the feeling that every sentence could be the final straw for someone. (And it’s that maybe if he said something else, if he tried a little harder, maybe if he wasn’t so focused on himself, he would’ve caught on sooner. Because God, he’d like to learn something the easy way for once.) It’s that feeling that really pins him down at night. It gets him in his highest moments, when he feels exposed and open and untouchable in the best way. But he knows that wearing Bert’s old shirt tomorrow or making that snappy remark with confidence won’t change a thing. And it won’t make him feel better. Nothing he does will make him feel better, not until he stops trying to feel better and just lets it go. 

So as time goes on and old friends are replaced by new ones, he’s found himself not wearing that raggedy shirt. He doesn’t put on the extra make up and he bites back the words he wanted to scream so badly the night prior. He feels reduced every morning to what Bert has made him and only by growing each and every moment can he achieve the evening glow. That constant strain is exhausting. It’s why he’s so whiny all the time. 

At least he’s trying, right? What would it have taken for him to give up completely, to not care about how or where he ends up? Gerard doesn’t ask that question because he really doesn’t want to know the answer. The pride in knowing he’s not there fuels him into searching out that evening glow. For the moments when he’s rejuvenated with strength and fire and passion. Then he washes it away with the dawn. 

The new friends are good people and it’s nice to have them—lord knows where he’d be without them, or if he’d even _be_ —but at a certain level, they don’t matter. On a cosmic scale, they mean just as little as he does but all that displays is Gerard’s understanding of his relativity to everything else. But on the social, political, and economic scale that everyone dwells upon, those friends don’t vill the void that Bert left. Simply because they’re not what he used to have. 

It’s that phantom limb syndrome; when he reaches out for the consistency he misses so dearly, he realizes that he has absolutely nothing that gains him access to it. That arm he’s been reaching out with is not there any longer. They don’t make prosthetics for this. 

So Gerard smiles and laughs and plans adventures the way he used to, with new people who don’t know how to act only because they’re not the people Gerard wishes they were. He stays up late, trying to feel some semblance of the way he used to, and he wakes up colder and colder every morning because of it. 

He’s finally hit the notion that he’s not going to feel the first rays of summer sun on his face as Bert drives him down to the mall for lunch and a stoagie behind the loading docks again. He’s not going to hear the same songs on the radio or fill up the same spaces. He won’t say the same phrases because he’s forgotten the insignificant specifics and black-listed everything else. (That behavior falls under the the fear of repeating his mistakes). He can’t feel what he used to because he’s not that person anymore.

He wants to be. As hard as it is to admit, he would love to hold Bert again. He would love to apologize and have Bert and all his stupid, shitty friends hug him. He would love to walk through hunting territory at night and eat gummy worms until he’s sick and they both throw up in the river. He wants all of that so desperately. But for all he’s wanting it with, it’s not enough. It won’t undo what he’s said or done, won’t deconstruct the new life he’s built, won’t unhurt his feelings or un-break his heart. 

Sometimes he really wants to be okay with that but he’s not. He can’t hypothesize about how he’ll feel in two days, let alone two years when he’s graduating. So he’s stuck in this tiny spec on the cosmic scale, feeling small for existing and smaller for not wanting to either. He’s inextricably tied to his galactic problems and a trajectory that leads him places he’s not ready to go. He’s clinging dearly to a past that doesn’t want him and he can’t let go long enough to see where he’s heading. Dear Kathleen, healing in all this chaos is very fucking hard. But still he feels like if he stretches himself a little thinner, to exist both in memory and in the present, he could make it work. Even for a few extra minutes, somewhere down the line, when he really needs it. He just doesn’t know if it’s worth it. 

Of course, right when he’s on the verge of answering that question, his black hole of a friend appears out of nowhere. Frank sits down next to him and dumps his backpack on the table, sending papers and moldy books flying everywhere. 

“Do you see this shit?” he asks, over the disgusted wailing of his friends. “I fucking hate finals. So much extra bullshit to carry around, like I don’t already have enough!”

“Tell me about it,” Gerard grumbles into his cold spaghetti. 

Frank makes no attempt to retrieve his stuff from the communal space. “Down in the dumps? I really can’t tell, what with the natural miserable exterior.”

“I am the poster child for radiance,” Gerard replies, tossing his too-long-for-mother-to-tolerate-any-longer hair behind his shoulder. “But I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you in a Doc Martens ad, so don’t come for me.”

Frank sets his backpack upright like a barrier. “One of the wheels on my board popped off over the weekend, so if you wanted to just… walk together… I’d be down.”

Gerard leans his head on Frank’s shoulder and sighs contemplatively. “Are you sure your short little legs could keep up?”

“Bite me,” Frank spits, nudging Gerard off his shoulder. 

“Just tell me where,” Gerard says, staring at his depressing spaghetti. 

“Kinky.”

“I meant where to meet you.” Gerard rolls his eyes. At this point in the semester, he’s got the not blushing thing nailed down. For the first couple of weeks, it was a real struggle, and he didn’t need any more of those at the time. 

See, Frank’s been doing this thing almost since the first time they met. It’s basically flirting but Gerard refuses to call it that, lest he gets the hots for another straight boy. God, the deja vu is strong with this one. 

Gerard’s not the type of person to read someone, not like Lindsey or Mikey can. Mikey once described Frank’s brain as “a bucket of sliced ham” and that’s about as far in as Gerard has dared to venture. That’s not to say he hasn’t thought about it, about Frank, extensively. Frank’s like a black hole, time doesn’t flow normally around him. Gerard never feels drawn to his past or stressed about his future. All he ever worries about is what time the sun will rise or when Frank’s gonna get recalled to his house, or worse, Jamia’s house. 

Frank starts throwing crumpled papers in his back pack. “Where do you need to be tonight?”

“Tonight?” 

Frank pauses. “…Yeah? You’ve been really off for a while and I guess I thought this was you, like, being ready to talk about it.”

Gerard laughs in his face. “Hm, uh, no. Sorry, I’m not…”

Frank’s disheartened but not giving up that easy. “Oh, okay. We can still hang out tonight, if you want.” His head is leant on his elbow on the table and he’s all eyes on Gerard. The cafeteria fluorescents glitter off of his irises.

Gerard’s brain snaps the photo before he can maintain casualty. It’s the kind of image he’ll overanalyze tonight, when he’s too depressed to sleep. He blinks off the feeling he can only categorize as starstruck and tries to play it cool. His emotions betray him. “Um, ye—“ his voice cracks. “Yeah, sure.”

“Cool,” Frank replies, already ears deep in the other conversation. 

Gerard wonders when exactly he and Frank got close enough for Frank to know what he needs. It’s kinda crazy when Frank says what Gerard wants to hear before he knows he wants to hear it. Gerard fades out of reality, imaging Frank as the Oracle at Delphi, and himself as the subject of every prophecy. His life would probably suck, but getting that much attention must feel nice. 

In the months gone by since they first met, Frank’s all but literally moved in. He sits on Gerard’s right during lunch, across from Mikey. He and Mikey really do talk like they’ve been best friends forever; it’s the same banter Gerard’s been hearing through the walls for years. There’s this ease in between comments that feels easy and comfortable even to outsiders. Like muscle memory between their presences. 

Frank still comes over on Saturday mornings to game with Mikey, and Gerard still never sees him (that’s when he has DND). It makes sense that he forgot about Mikey and Frank’s relationship. Being holed up in his room instead of socializing with his younger brother’s friends was always the clear choice. 

Things are different now. Gerard unplugs from DND fifteen minutes early, brushes his hair, changes out of his pajamas, and greets the day. At four o’clock. Believe it or not, it’s an improvement. Frank is handed from Mikey off to Gerard, with another six hours of pretending not to have motion sickness under his belt. Together they go off to do whatever it is they do. 

Sometimes it’s a smoke in the park, because as much as Gerard tries to mediate his smoking habit, Frank just does not care at all. Then he gets nic-sick and throws up in the bushes of the children’s park, blaming video-game-itis. It’s just trashy enough to be it’s hilarious. And they still go on night walks but they’ve been running out of places to venture. About a week and a half ago they made it all the way downtown by 2 a.m. and then had to run back to get in bed before the world woke up. 

“I was a lifeguard here over the summer.”—is what Frank said that time they broke into the city pool at midnight and got chased out by some security guard that definitely wasn’t paid enough to deal with them.

At some point it was decided that the night walks should be a secret left between them two and Gerard agrees it’s better this way. Ray goes to bed at actually eight-thirty and Lindsey is too much of a freak to do normal things like walking at night. (Lindsey is probably the only person Gerard feels aptly called a “normie” by.) Plus, Gerard likes the feeling of being around only one person. A guy that he trusts, almost like an extension of himself. Although, he can’t fathom liking himself this much.

And Gerard has only recently noticed that there’s an ease and comfort when they catch up too. The paradise in his dreams, the kind that only shows up once in a blue moon, is breaking through the matrix, too. It used to be solitary and quiet, built on wishes and imagination and virtues. And it used to only be available on occasion, like when he went to sleep without taking melatonin, or some other bullshit lore Gerard gave it. 

Now he sees it in the daylight, or more specifically, the moonlight. He gets a whiff of it in the street lamps reflecting in Frank’s eyes. The clatter of Frank’s board hitting the curb reminds him of the thunderous jungles. The smell of late-autumn air in the late afternoon always punches him in the gut on Saturdays. It’s so crisp and vibrant, hard to take in after a day spent in his basement. It’s free and changing and wild, a lot like Gerard wishes he was. And Frank’s always there to break him out into the world, so Gerard’s begun to associate Frank with that rush. 

Gerard realizes his hasn’t blinked in five minutes and buries his eyes in his palms. It helps push out the negative feedback of all the good experiences he’s had lately. _For each reaction…_

Frank laughs at something Lindsey said and scrunches his nose up in disapproval. Gerard’s been gazing for too long once he notices he’s gazing at all. 

See, that’s what he means. He’s got all these good happenings and they’re all dead bolted to Frank. Part of him thinks it’s coincidence. Part of him knows that it’s too late to not have the hots for another straight boy. 

“Shut the fuck up, you know nothing,” Patrick is shouting across the table at Pete.

“Wanna bet? Twenty bucks.”

“Cool, that’s enough for me to buy your mom’s services for a night.”

“Why are we gambling?” Gerard whispers to the nearest person who isn’t Frank. It’s a thin girl with vibrant red hair and eyes like fire. Hayley, Gerard’s pretty sure that’s her name. Lindsey’s friend. 

“Patrick bet that Pete can’t name 5 of his interests. Says he doesn’t listen to his tangents.”

Gerard knows a thing or two about Patrick’s tangents. “Yikes. R.I.P. Pete.”

Pete whips out a blank sheet of paper and takes the pencil handed to him by Ryan. He looks back up at Patrick in a mock-observational manner. The paper stays blank for a tense five minutes as Pete goes back and forth between Patrick and it. 

Gerard appreciates the silence while it lasts. Everyone’s attention is so focused. Gerard wonders if this is what team sports are like. He wouldn’t know. Participation-based group activity is literally a recurring nightmare of his. 

“Really? Wow, my best friend can’t name a single thing I like.”

Pete makes a face like he’s got something but isn’t sure twenty bucks is worth it. “Five? We agreed on five, really?”

“FIVE.”

Pete sighs and sits back. “Oof.”

“You don’t even have one!” Patrick accuses, sending the table into giggle fits. 

Pete cracks a wide grin and locks eyes with Patrick daringly. “No, no, no, I got one.” He scribbles on the paper and turns it around. It just says ‘dick’. 

The table erupts into laughter. 

“I mean, really, you don’t ever stop talk—“ he begins casually. 

Patrick snatches the paper away before Pete can finish. He’s not laughing, but he is very red. 

“$20 for a shitty roast. You’re such a beta male.” He holds out a hand and waits for Pete to fork it over. 

Pete digs the bill out of what looks like his underwear and slaps it in Patrick’s hand. “Don’t spend it all in one place, sweetie.”

Patrick returns to his seat begrudgingly. “It’s all fun and games until I become your third step father.”

“TAKE THAT SHIT BACK—“

“CHILDREN!” Brendon shouts above the racket. “I HAVE GOOD NEWS!” 

Gerard realizes that Brendon’s been missing from lunch thus far, which is highly unusual. Typically he sits at the head of the table on a chair that’s so tall his knees are level with his lunch. It makes his spine look like a banana. Gerard enjoys picturing the chiropractic bills in Brendon’s future. 

Judging by the cafeteria doors still spinning on their hinges, Brendon came here in a hurry. But the dirt smudges on his hands, face, and clothes don’t give Gerard any clue as to where he came _from_. 

“Please enlighten us, oh great and gracious leader,” Josh laughs. 

“The Love Shack is officially up and running!” he announces. 

Gerard looks around to make sure he’s not the only confused. He’s not. 

“The what?” Josh asks.

“I think it’s code,” Meagan says. “For drugs or something.”

“Wrong,” Brendon snaps. “The Love Shack is something I have been working on for a while with Spencer and Jon. Y’know the decrepit park on 4th?”

Nervous looks are exchanged. 

Brendon leans forward onto the table and lowers his voice. “Let’s keep this between us, okay?” he says, despite speaking to two tables of teenagers. And plus, he’s really only talking to Sarah, which is bad enough with everyone watching. “The three of us built a cabin in the forest.”

“Cabin is a loose translation…” Spencer mumbles. 

“It stands on its own and doesn’t fall if you lean on it! It’s a cabin. We camouflaged it and everything. There’s an old mattress inside and pencil case full of condoms. You’re all welcome.”

There’s bewildered and abhorrent silence. 

“You built a cesspool. Thank you so much, Brendon,” Dallon says, green in the face.

“Well you’re definitely not getting any so you don’t have a reason to worry,” Brendon replies. “Anyway, for all of us adults out here, when you hit the playground, just walk from the curly slide straight into the woods. You’ll hit it.”

Out of the blue Mikey realizes that this is what Brendon meant when he created the hazing rituals. (There’s no way they’re passed down, Mikey thinks. Brendon’s just full of shit.) So this is it? He’s gonna have to Christen some crack shack in the park on 4th? Fan-fucking-tastic, that’s exactly how he wanted to start high school. 

Pete nudges his leg under the table. Mikey catches his eye but Pete looks away after a second, like there’s some secret Mikey’s supposed to get. Knowing Pete, he’s probably just trying to bully Mikey into finding someone to Christen the—oh, shit. 

Mikey plays dead as the silence worsens. 

Frank leans in to whisper to Gerard. “Listen, I don’t know where you want to go tonight, but not there.”

Gerard glares at him. “Don’t worry about it.”

At the head of the table, Brendon’s getting really fed up of not getting the recognition he deserves. He put blood, sweat, and tears into that structure—and for what? For a dozen mopey teens to scoff at the fruits of his labor? That wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. He’d anticipated an explosion of drama, like the inciting event of a soap opera. Brendon had one thing in common with high school, and it’s that they’re both built on the same thing: drama. And yet somehow, he was centered in the only group without any. _SOMEHOW_. 

It doesn’t matter, he decides, one day they’ll appreciate his hard work. One day, maybe not soon, there will be a happening in the love shack that’s so unexpected and earth-shattering and attention-grabbing that they’ll all rue the day they dismissed his creation. Nothing, not one thing, would bring Brendon’s spirit down or lessen his enthusiasm for his work. 

His rumination is cut short by Lindsey asking, “So, is it open 24/7 or do we take turns?” 

“EW, God, GROSS, Lindsey!” Brendon, among others, shouts. 

Frank snickers through a mouth full of salad. “You know who would love that? Fuckin’ Bert.”

The table becomes a different type of silent. 

Frank looks around. “Bert McCracken. Y’all know Bert, right?”

Lindsey clears her throat. “Who?”

Frank’s look of bewilderment almost makes up for how betrayed Gerard feels. _Of course_ , Frank knows Bert. Everyone knows Bert! It’s just a little disheartening to hear him spoken about in such good spirits. Then there's always the fear that Frank would’ve sided with Bert and still might and Gerard can just kiss this friendship goodbye right fucking now. 

“Bert! Like this tall,” Frank says, motioning with his hands. “Black hair, edgy. Like Gerard but evil-er.”

Only because Gerard’s known Ray for ten+ years can he tell how livid Ray is. Ray’s not a malicious or even prickly person by nature, but on the rare occasion that he does end up miffed, he becomes very unamused and passive-aggressive. His body language says he wouldn’t touch Frank with a ten foot pole when he says, “I’ve never met her.”

Then there’s a nervousness that silences the entire cafeteria into submission. Gerard slams his Tupperware shut and just like that, the table is evacuated. Lunch isn’t over for another fifteen minutes, but that’s irrelevant. 

~

 _That was close_ , Gerard thinks on his way to class. He’s just spent the last fifteen sitting in the library with Lindsey, staring at the goth kids who camp in the occult section. All in all, it wasn’t the worst way to take his mind off of things. But with World History on the horizon, he’s back to square one. 

To avoid all future uncomfort he should just tell Frank now and suffer the consequences. Just bite the bullet and survive the aftermath. On the other hand, he can’t actually think of anything worse. Willingly put himself in the position to be rejected again? No, thanks. 

He’s got low expectations heading into class but they only lower when he gets a text from Frank. 

Miserable Pissbaby: bad news. busy this afternoon

Gerard: what happened?

Miserable Pissbaby: duty calls

Gerard has, at this point, figured out that “duty” is synonymous with Jamia. Gerard groans loudly from the back row, drawing entirely too much attention to himself. At least he doesn’t have any reputation to ruin. Or anybody else’s to “keep in mind” anymore. 

Miserable Pissbaby: meet me later tonight?

Gerard: at the love shack?

Miserable Pissbaby: yeah, sure. that’s where i’m taking your mom first so i’ll be around

Gerard: i hate you deeply

Miserable Pissbaby: ;)

Gerard’s phone is promptly confiscated by the teacher he neglected to account for. Oh, well. Those new plans on the calendar have given him some motivation to stay alive for a couple more hours, even if it means living through history class. 

Even if it means sitting alone, wishing curses upon some girl he’s never met before. 

Thinking about her makes the emotional vortex under his sternum bluster. He knows that hating her isn’t fair, because it’s not like Frank would even consider him like that. But his jealousy isn’t easily reigned in when the only thing holding him back from any change of pace is his own cowardice. Gerard stares at the ceiling, wondering why everything is always his fault. It’s not easy, being a burden to himself. 

For so long he’s been content to sit with this vortex of resentment and fear and resignation to the world’s beration. But he’s healed a lot in these three months, even if it’s hard to tell day-to-day. He’s beginning to wonder why he’s so content to sit in misery when there’s finally a way out. That way out is Frank. Sitting with him at lunch and holding eye contact a little too long, or getting mentally flash-banged when Frank asks to pick him up at eight-thirty has been good. Now, it’s not enough.

So that’s why he hates Jamia, because she stands in the way of him healing. The guilt trickles in, undo-ing the catharsis of the revelation. _Hating Jamia helps no one._ God, he misses Bert. He mourns the days when he never felt like this. As astronomically shitty as it felt to wait in vain for Bert to return from summer camp, it was better for Gerard than knowing he fucked up so badly it cost him three months (and counting) of his happiness. Or was he just not good enough? Or—

The bell cuts through the vortex and Gerard is up and out of the class before his thoughts can follow. Navigating he hallways of school is worse. Every smile he gets looks fake. 

“Hey, G—“ _Faker._

“How are y—“ _Liar._

It’s hot garbage. The queen moment to rule them all is nothing more than a sad, subdued smile from one of Bert’s friends. She’s got her bangs masking her eyes so Gerard doesn’t see her averting them. Mutually aware of each other’s presence, she sends him a muted pity smile, as though she is at all sorry. 

And for what? To ease her conscience? Well, maybe, if she hadn’t spent months relentlessly teasing Bert and outright bullying Gerard, then it wouldn’t feel so insincere. Perhaps if she wasn’t still best buddies with Bert, some part of the gesture would be appreciated. She is, and it’s not. 

The whole school feels tainted by pity and superiority. This year’s yearbook is gonna have _Sorry, have you tried not being sad?_ on the cover, Gerard’s sure of it. Every part of high school is so impersonal and yet everyone is trying so hard to connect. Gerard’s sick of it. Sick of feeling like an untouchable and an outsider, sick of the whispers behind hands and sick of being bothered by it. 

_And what’s he going to do about that?_ he wonders, storming out of school with two hours left to go. First, he’s going to listen to loud, angry music in his car, but that’s only a cool-down measure. Then he’s going to tell Frank about Bert—at the bare minimum—because the shame and the fear is exhausting. Ultimately, his plan is to stop simply coping and heal. It’s a lot, but at least he’s got a plan. 

He turns on the radio, pretends to vomit at the state of the music industry, and plugs in his phone to the aux cord. He takes off for the comic book store where he intends to spend quite a bit of time. After that, a nap sounds good, filling the time until Frank shows up. It’s a way to not think about Jamia or Bert or finals week, and every second he’s not thinking about that shit is a good one. 

~

Gerard shuts the front door behind him and takes in the silence of his empty house. No drama, no obnoxious people, not one single mention of Bert. Well, aside from the picture on the fridge. And his old water bottle on the counter. And the shirt he left in Gerard’s room on the last day of school. 

“Fuck,” Gerard sighs, dropping his bags next to the door and making for his room. Voices from down the hall catch his attention. He walks with his feet next to the wall to make as little noise as possible. He’s not eavesdropping, he promises himself, he’s just ensuring there aren’t intruders. 

“I don’t have a lot of experience liking boys,” Lindsey’s voice says. “Sorry. I don’t really know how to help you.”

“And now you’re gonna tell me to talk to Gerard,” Mikey replies, sounding exhausted. 

“Yeah. I know it’s weird ‘cause he’s your brother, but he’s also got the most experience—“

“DO NOT—“ Mikey screeches. 

“WITH LIKING BOYS, I MEANT!” Lindsey screams back, louder. 

Gerard backtracks down the hall as fast as he possibly can. Definitely not for his ears. 

He’s sure he’s gotten away with it as he turns the corner, only to hear the patter of footsteps chasing after him. His only chance of survival, his instincts tell him, is if he gets behind a locked door as soon as humanly possible. He takes off the down the stairs, only to be slammed playfully into the wall of the basement floor landing. 

“Nobody likes sneaks,” Lindsey hisses, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him back up the stairs. 

He trips over his words, trying to recuse himself from the situation.

Lindsey mimics his stuttering, rolling her eyes. “You’re really going to skip out on being there for your brother?”

“Linds, I’m literally the last person on earth he wants to talk to. Except maybe mom.”

“Then we’ll get him a therapist, but in the mean time, do your brotherly duty.” She shoves him into Mikey’s room and stands guard at the door. 

They sit in uncomfortable silence for a moment. 

“Your dex mod sucks,” Mikey mutters. “Zero stealth bonus. You’d be a terrible rogue.”

“Fuck you, I’m a wizard! I don’t even need dexterity!” Gerard throws an angry look back at Lindsey. “Well, unless you consider that a high dexterity modifier adds to your AC, which is important since wizards can’t wear armor, but—“

Mikey groans loudly and flops back on his bed. “You’re such a nerd.”

Gerard wants to leave more than anything but his chances against Lindsey are slim. He takes a seat at Mikey’s desk since desk chairs are apparently the go-to for awkward conversation starters. “I’m a nerd second and your brother first, though.”

“I’d prefer it if you were the nerd, in this case,” Mikey replies. 

“Clearly.” 

Lindsey nudges him with her eyes. 

“Okay, so I get why you don’t want to talk to me specifically, but if you just want someone to _listen_ to you, I can do that. Just word vomit, and nothing leaves this room.”

Mikey looks dubious. 

“Come on, you know I’d never tell your secrets to anyone else,” Gerard sighs. “And neither would Lindsey.”

Lindsey crosses her heart. 

“No, I know, I’m just panicking. This is just like being asked to present in front of the class.” He straightens his glasses up but his posture regresses. “Dunnowheretostart,” he mumbles.

 _Is this classroom Mikey?_ Gerard wonders. Based on Mikey’s behavior during lunch, Gerard has always assumed Mikey acts equally charismatic the rest of the time. For the most part, Gerard never really checks in on him. All this time he’s spent in his own head has also been at the expense of his brother. Gerard chips the nail polish off of his nails, adding that to his mental list of things that need to change. 

He attempts to resurrect the conversation. “Well—“ 

“Fuckers and mothers, I am in love with a woman!” Brendon shouts, all but actually kicking the door off the hinges. 

Lindsey picks herself up off the floor. “Where have I heard that before?” she asks, snickering at his expense. 

“It’s different this time!” he insists.

“I’ll take ‘Brendon being Brendon’ for nine-hundred, Alex,” Gerard laughs. Hadn’t he locked the front door behind him on the way in?

“Gerard, I swear to God it’s different. She’s nothing like the hundreds that came before her,” Brendon yearns. 

“I think you’re lowballing that number,” Gerard mutters.

“Nah,” Lindsey interrupts. “He said ‘came’. That’s a relatively small portion of his conquests. If any.”

“You people are savages. A man comes to you in need and you mock him.” Brendon hisses, fake fainting on the bed. 

Gerard and Mikey exchange a look. Mikey’s eyes say _no, no way._ Gerard’s thinking that Brendon—the firecracker that he is—is a pretty good conversation starter. And Mikey’s thinking that he’ll be damned before he opens up to Brendon. Lindsey weighs in by clearing her throat and giving them looks that scream opportunity. 

“All right,” Mikey groans. “Fine.”

“See, was that so hard?” Brendon gripes, siting back up like a corpse rising from the grave. “It’s just so difficult to be around such a beautiful woman all day and know that she doesn’t want me. I asked her out a month ago and she said that she’d think about it but never got back to me. And I don’t wanna ask her because what if I’m rushing her? Or what if I’m wasting valuable time that we could be together? Not to mention I broke up with the last one _for her!_ ”

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘the last one’? Do you even know her name?” Lindsey asks, appalled.

“Uh… Sammy?” 

“WHY IS THAT A QUESTION?” 

“Never thought I’d say this, but I envy you, Brendon,” Gerard sighs. He pulls his hair back and tries to formulate his thoughts into words. 

“What? Why?” Brendon appears equally confused. 

“I mean, not to be insensitive but you hop from relationship to relationship fairly easily. And I’ve got gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe and it won’t come off.” Gerard wants to start talking and never stop but the walls he’s built in absence of Bert’s reassurance tell him to shut up before people get bored. 

“How’s that going?” Lindsey asks gently.

Gerard takes a glance around the room, finding only kind eyes and expectant faces. Maybe he shouldn’t have to bottle it up all the time. “Bad, but not as bad as before. I still miss him a lot, even though I guess everyone else hated him. I’m in a weird place right now. I just don't want to be sad anymore.”

“But…?” Brendon fills in. 

Gerard smiles appreciatively. " _But_ , I can’t. I know I’m not over it yet because I would still go back if I could. Even though it wasn’t as good as I remember it and honestly most of it was shitty, there’s a few moments I wish I could live in.” He sinks further into the desk chair. 

A silent moment passes, where everyone absorbs what’s been said and tangles with it. 

“I—um…” Mikey clears his throat. “I like someone.”

Gerard feels bad watching him struggle to get the words out. He’s had to say this before and it’s hardest the first time. 

Mikey stares at the ground. “And I know he likes me back.” 

“That doesn’t sound like too much of a problem,” Lindsey replies, trying to sound upbeat.

“That’s not the problematic part.”

“Wait, _HE?_ ” Brendon practically shrieks.

Mikey waves his finger like he’s ringing a bell. “ _That’s_ the problem.”

Brendon’s jaw is on the floor but he’s beaming. 

Mikey shifts around in his chair. “I don’t really care that I like him, it doesn’t bother me, liking boys… I think. It’s just new and a lot to process before I do anything about it.”

“Is he trying to coerce you into something?” Lindsey asks. 

“No, not at all. He’s a flirty person and just being himself—“ It’s in this moment that Gerard knows precisely who Mikey’s talking about. “—and that’s fine. Half of me is so down but the other half wants to sit back and process this before I dive head first—“

“Wow, graphic,” Brendon mutters. 

“No offense, but I will kick the shit out of you,” Lindsey shoots back.

“Same, but with offense,” Gerard adds on. 

Mikey looks exhausted by the conversation and everyone involved in it. “I don’t want to irrevocably tie these new feelings to this one person. So if it goes badly, I won’t lock out the feelings. Clearly it’s a part of me and I don’t want to forever associate my coming of age, or whatever, with some shitty high school boyfriend. I wanna understand… and all that shit.”

Part of the storm is over, judging by Mikey’s cold stare (which is still aimed at the carpet), but Gerard can tell there’s more to come. 

“You should tell him that,” Gerard says, knowing from extremely recent experience that communication can make or break a relationship. “Ghosting him will make it harder in the long run.”

“I wasn’t going to ghost him,” Mikey mumbles.

“I won’t name names for your sake, but judging by the fifteen missed texts I have from him, all of which read, ‘is Mikey with you’, I’m gonna say that you already have,” Lindsey replies.

“Shit,” Mikey groans, prying his phone out of his pocket. 

“Well, I’m sorry you two are really going through it but I think Sarah’s just being a tease,” Brendon pipes up nonchalantly. 

“SARAH?” Lindsey yells. She squints at Brendon as if gearing up to take him down. At the last second she sighs. “At least you know her name this time.”

“I really do like her, Lindsey. She’s beautiful and funny and takes no shit, especially from me. I know it’s different this time because I love to talk, right? But with her, listening to her talk is so much better. And when she’s all in her element, doing the things she loves, it’s like I can feel the passion emanating off of her in waves. Just being around her makes me happier and more believing of the good things in the world. She called me the other night and told me that the last giant pandas in captivity had a baby and I _cried!_ She’s just so much all the time and sometimes I can’t believe a person can be so amazing.” Brendon smiles at the ceiling and sighs. “I love it. I love… her.”

The three other people in the room grimace.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Gerard replies comfortingly. 

Brendon moves his confusion from one person to the next but no one takes his side. “Why are you all so anti-love?”

“Your dating history,” Lindsey replies. 

“You’re also, you know, fifteen,” Mikey adds.

From the desk chair, swathed in shadow, Gerard picks at his nails and seethes. Through clenched teeth, he says, “Love isn’t real.”

“Is that so?” Brendon takes him in with real concern for his wellbeing. Those words are heresy in Brendon’s world. “Disregarding Bert, there’s no one you’ve felt real connection with? Nobody?”

A quick and snappy reply would really sell the lie. But Brendon’s question catches him off guard and he’s reminded of that picturesque moment during lunch. When Frank looked so happy and content with the fluorescents reflecting off his eyes and making his skin look golden and soft. Gerard’s edgy reply is torn straight from his mouth. 

Mikey’s giving him some strange vibes, like he’s seconds away from Sherlock Holmes-ing his way to the bottom of Gerard’s silence. That long conversation, in which Gerard would have to explicitly say that he’s got the hots for Mikey’s best friend might actually kill him right now.

“It’s different now.”

“‘Now’ meaning…?” Brendon baits. 

“Now that Bert happened. Like I said, I’d be totally cool just moving on and never feeling any sort of emotion toward all that ever again, but it’s not realistic. I’m still damaged and sad and I gotta get through that before I start anything new.”

“Don’t you think that maybe something new might help you heal?” Brendon asks. 

Gerard considers this, but it only makes him want Frank and mourn Bert more. “No,” he says. “I think right now, I need fix myself and grow up just a little bit more. If I don’t, I think I’d always compare him to Bert, like he’s not good enough. Of course he’s good enough, but he’s not Bert. Then they’d be tied together forever in my mind, eternally competing and ruining each other. And like Mikey said, I don’t want to lock him to this part of my life. It’ll just bring a bad taste to my mouth.”

Brendon shows his acceptance through silence.

Gerard laughs in spite of himself. “Plus, he’s got a girlfriend.”

“Ah, the thot thickens!” Brendon snickers. “How’s that feel?”

Gerard smiles in disbelief. How is laughing about this? In history class it felt maddening to simply conceptualize. “Oh, really fucking awful. I can’t date him because I’m not ready for another relationship, but even if I was he’s still with her. There’s another person for me to be jealous of. Good for them, I guess.”

The snapshot of Frank’s stupid, smiling face is still stuck in Gerard’s brain. He isn’t bothered to argue with the memory about how he really feels or what’s still holding him back (because, honestly, that list is long). It’s this moment that for the first time he’s aware of the cluster-fuck that his life has become and accepts it for what it is. A weight that he didn’t know he’s been carrying lifts from his shoulders. 

Despite the hellfire around him, finally being honest with himself makes it all seem okay. He likes Frank, so what? So what if he’s got a girlfriend and is also probably not gay and Gerard’s fresh out of break up and totally black and blue emotionally? So what if Frank is Mikey’s best friend and that it feels all sorts of weird to look Mikey in the eyes nowadays? So what if when he tells Frank, tonight, about his past with Bert that he has no idea how Frank will respond? 

_Gross,_ Gerard thinks. That last one is a little too fresh still. At least he’s honest about it. _Is this the therapy talking?_

Lindsey puts her face in her hands. “All of you are tragic.”

Out of the blue, Mikey pulls himself out of his phone and groans, “Fuck. And now I have to christen the stupid fucking Love Shack too.”

“Just take your mans,” Brendon giggles. 

Mikey rolls his eyes. “That’s what he said.”

“Mikey, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. The hazing can be called off,” Lindsey states, as though she has any at all say in the matter. 

Brendon glares at her with murderous intent. 

“…Or postponed,” she offers up instead. 

“Oh, it’s happening,” Brendon clarifies, “but to be fair, you already missed the Christening.”

“Ew,” everyone groans unanimously. 

“It wasn’t me! Just last week, Jenna asked me to refill the pencil case, y’know, the one with the condoms, and I was like, ‘bitch, I’m not the maid.’” 

"Wait, last week? I thought it was finished today!" Gerard says. 

Brendon scratches his head. "Well, originally I wasn't going to open it to the public, but, you know. Word spreads."

"So do diseases," Mikey mutters.

“Oh, shit,” Lindsey smiles. “I guess Jenna finally asked that Tyler dude out.”

“How do you know _every_ girl?” Brendon asks. Gerard bets he’s jealous. 

“She gets around,” Mikey replies.

Brendon’s eyes ping pong between Mikey and Lindsey while he thinks that one through. “Are you gay?” he asks, finally. 

“What would give you that impression?” Lindsey asks, dead-serious. She gets nothing from him but scared and confused silence. “Well, it’s been fun but I’m late for one of my massive lesbian orgies, so—“

“No, wait!” Brendon reaches for her as she turns. “I asked because you know a lot about girls and I… I do not.”

Lindsey turns to Gerard. “Is this a fever dream or is Brendon asking me for help with his girl problems?”

“Both, probably. How much NyQuil have you been taking?” 

Lindsey spins back around. “Okay, listen here, Boyd. That’s your middle name, right? Okay, I’m gonna call you Boyd when I talk down to you, so expect to hear it a lot from now on. You gotta speak to her. Ask her what she wants but tell her what you want, too. It’s all about the flow of hearing versus explaining. And you gotta be cool if she tells you to back off, but not at the expense of your own emotions, okay?”

He still looks scared, albeit less confused. “Yes, ma’am.” He grabs his things and leaves without a glance toward anyone else. Gerard hadn’t thought you could do the walk of shame without certain circumstances but Brendon just demonstrated beautifully. 

“That went well!” she huffs, flopping down on Mikey’s bed. 

Gerard stares silently out the window, wondering how he’s gonna speed up the healing process so he can get back to dreaming about straight boys without guilt as fast as possible. Mikey cuts through his brain waves.

“You wanna talk about him?” he asks. 

Gerard’s head is still up in the clouds when he hears Mikey’s question and he almost says yes. He could go on about Frank forever, he thinks. Talk about his skateboarding skills and lack-thereof, or his laugh and stupid sense of humor. But it’s Mikey asking, so he can’t. Not now, and maybe, if all of Gerard's worst nightmares come true, not ever!

“No,” he says quickly. “Do you?”

“Not really. But if you know any different ways to tell a person ‘yes, but not now’, then I’m all ears. ‘Cause I ran out, like, weeks ago.”

“Pete’s not really known for being patient. Sorry,” Gerard gives him a lopsided smile in sympathy. 

“It’s fine,” Mikey sighs, not commenting on Gerard’s apparent telepathy. “I’ll either get past this phase or he’ll get bored. I can’t imagine he’ll wait forever.”

Gerard and Lindsey share a look. Together they know very little about Pete, but based on his behavior these past few months, they’re both aware that he seems like exactly the kind of person to wait forever. 

Also, ‘phase’? _Sure, okay._

Mikey returns to his phone and continues, Gerard assumes, fending Pete off. Gerard decides that he’s got no more soliloquies to vomit up and that his time would be better spent napping until Frank shows up. With all the talking they’re gonna be doing, Gerard figures it’ll be a long night. Unless, of course, the conversation turns nasty and the night ends very young indeed. 

Gerard meanders toward his basement, starting to wonder what the fuck just happened in Mikey’s room. Lindsey catches him again at the bottom of the stairs. Much less violently this time. 

“So, how are you going to tell Mikey you’re crushing on his BFF?” she asks innocently.

“I’m not,” Gerard replies, also not commenting on the telepathy. “Hopefully I'll continue to repress and I can return to crying and watching Grey’s Anatomy.”

“You’ll run out of seasons.”

“I really won’t. They’re on sixteen right now, I think.”

“Metaphorically,” she corrects herself.

Gerard leans on the doorframe to his room, saying nothing. 

“I don’t think you want it to go away. I think you want him to wait forever, too.”

It takes a moment to register that this is probably the only person he can talk to about Frank that won’t inevitably lead to disaster. He stares at the wall until his eyes get dry and he tears up. 

“That’d be nice,” he whispers. “Not to sound like Brendon but it does feel different with him. It’s like…” _Like leaving your dark room for the first time all day at four in the afternoon and realizing how much better his time can be spent._

“You don’t have to finish that thought. I know what you mean.” Lindsey crash lands into him with a hug. “And you can do this. You’ve come so far already. I mean, hell, six weeks ago you didn’t even want to see any of us outside of school. You’re strong enough.”

He buries his face in her shoulder and holds on tight. “Thanks.” Only upon pulling away does he feel how badly he needed that. 

“Oh, and I have your phone. You left it with your teacher after lunch. He said something about you leaving early. I’m sure that was approved by the principal.” 

Gerard smiles, snatching his phone from her. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Some lesbian orgy or something?” 

“Yeah, it’s called beating up Brendon behind the bus stop. Also, nice sneaky way of asking me to leave. Later, hater.” She smiles back at him as she jogs up the stairs. 

And despite all the everything that has occurred, Gerard is more ready than ever to see Frank.

~

Tonight is warm. Climate change is probably the reason, but Gerard has no hate to direct tonight. The sweet air caresses his skin and holds his hands, blowing him along like a leaf. Worries of getting lost in time or place are absent. Why worry, when the moon is so luminous above, as though she shines for only the darkest souls. She and the stars have fallen like glitter across the sky, and they are magnificent. 

There’s a crash behind him, as always, followed by Frank jogging after him with his skateboard under his arm. Their footsteps, in tandem, are the ambient noise of the month. It’s beat up tennis shoes scraping against the loose gravel that collects on asphalt. It’s about the scuffle. 

Tonight is not about the journey, but the destination. Gerard can feel that their steps, while tethered to no one or hour, are taking them toward something. They are the parallel lines that _do_ meet, somewhere down the line. When his hand brushes Frank’s, he can tell that Frank is under the same impression. His silence speaks measures. It’s not a cold, hard ending they’re moving toward, rather a soft obligation that’s guiding their paces. (Not) speaking of silence, there’s quite a bit of it going around. 

Gerard stops in the middle of the street. The dashed yellow line separates him from Frank. He can’t go forward anymore. He can’t enjoy the moon or the planets or any of the stars. Not until he issues the truth that Frank is deserving of. At least the warm, soothing breeze is on his side. The leaves pause on their branches. The world is waiting for him. 

So Gerard tucks his hair behind his ears and looks Frank in the eyes. All the words he’s prepared are wiped from his mental white board because Frank’s brown eyes have the softest flecks of green… and Gerard’s never noticed in the daylight, but under the orange street lamps, it’s obvious. How has he never seen the obvious? 

“What were you gonna say?” Frank asks. He takes a step forward so he’s toe-to-toe with the yellow line. He’s really not that short up close, either. It’s just forced perspective. 

There’s a multitude of things that Gerard was going to say… eventually. Here’s what he goes with: “Your lips are chapped.”

Frank runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “So they are. So are yours, to be honest.”

It feels like the whole world has plunged to the bottom of a lake and is running out of air. Gerard had expected this to feel like the running jump off of the cliff, but now he realizes it’s the fall. With a shaky breath, he accepts that he’s been falling for so, so long. 

Gerard toes the yellow line and tries to get a handle over the shivers permeating him. “Frank, um…” If he keeps rattling so fiercely, he might start dropping tears like ripe fruit. 

Frank drops his skateboard. A wheel pops off and Gerard watches it roll away and drop into a sewer drain. His attention is drawn back when he feels a hand on his face. 

Frank wipes the tears off of Gerard’s cheeks. The warm night makes way for rolling thunder, way, far off. It’s still swampy out but the sound of rain hitting the pavement is almost audible already. Maybe it’s the tears.

“Who scared you like this?” Frank breathes. His hand never leaves Gerard’s face. 

Gerard’s vision is clouded badly by the tears. He never meant to cry or drag this out. He never meant to be this scared. _With the next clap of thunder,_ he promises himself. _Then it’ll be done._

But Frank isn’t clued into his timetable. He both rises and pulls Gerard down. Their lips don’t meet before headlights expose them. 

The school bus zooms down the street, throwing them onto opposite sidewalks. Gerard scrapes his palms trying to break his fall. As soon as the bus halts at the stop at the end of the block, Frank runs to the yellow line. 

“Gerard, don’t—“ 

Gerard’s already walking toward the bus stop. He wants to stay, but he’s waited for that bus this long. He’s not waiting anymore. 

“Please!”

Gerard climbs onto the bus. The regret is pooling. He would take a lake to drown in right about now. As the bus pulls away, rain begins to flatten the plants and soak the ground. That gentle breeze is furious.

Gerard waits to wake up, to feel the shame of knowing his awful fate and accepting it. Instead the bus stops again at a second stop. 

Frank gets on. He forces Gerard into the window seat, only to throw his legs onto Gerard’s lap and stare angrily. He’s soaking wet. 

“Now who’s the one leaving people?” he asks, fire in his brown-with-tiny-flecks-of-green eyes. There are tears too. 

~

“Hey, knob-goblin, get the fuck UP!” 

Something soft smacks Gerard awake. Bleary, he opens his eyes to find Frank brandishing a pillow like a sword. 

“Knob-goblin?” he hisses, stealing the pillow back.

Frank resists the sneaky theft. “Yeah, I thought it up on the way here. Pretty genius, right?” 

Gerard smiles. “No.”

“Fine, fuck face. Get up, we’re going walking. Or something.”

“Or something?” Gerard is used to semi-prophetic dreams but as the rest of his senses wake up, he has a mini heart attack. His one window is blurred by rain. 

“Well, it’s dumping outside. But I’m not leaving you to sulk all night, so get creative.” 

Gerard pulls a raincoat over his school clothes and grabs his phone off of the nightstand. He doesn’t dare catch his reflection in the mirror. The anxiety coursing through his body says more about his physical appearance than he’d care to know already. 

“No offense, but you look fucking worked,” Frank laughs. It’s not a _that was funny!_ laugh, it’s more of a _are you fucking okay?_ laugh. 

“Could say the same to you.” Gerard’s bitterness is showing. “You’re glowing.”

Frank scratches his head and leads the way up the stairs. “I actually didn’t end up seeing her.”

Gerard takes the stairs one at a time because he hates himself. (Frank does three at a time, minimum.) The fact that he didn’t see Jamia makes him a little happier, though he’s sure Jesus wouldn’t approve. “Why’d you take forever getting here?”

“I was, like, three hours early!” Frank protests. “But Mikey made me play guitar hero. I kicked his ass.”

Gerard makes a face as he walks in the living room. “Mikey hates guitar h—Oh, hey, Pete.”

Pete is sprawled across two chairs, holding his phone up in the air over his face. Gerard’s voice startles him into dropping it on his face. His spirits aren’t dampened. “‘Sup?”

Gerard doesn’t reply. He makes very pointed eye contact with Mikey, who is sitting on the ground with his back against one of Pete’s chairs. His expression is unreadable. Gerard leaves with Frank in tow, after offering zero brotherly assistance. It is indeed very much raining outside. 

“Feel like walking?” Frank wise-cracks. 

Gerard isn’t immune. He grins and shuts his eyes as rain drops from the gutters crash onto his warm skin. “Not really. Would driving really be the same though?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Frank replies, running through the rain toward the garage. 

Gerard watches him go, smiling stupidly. Maybe it’s because of the rain on his face for the first time all day…

Driving winds up being a very poor planned idea. The car is fucking freezing and when Frank cranks up the heat to counteract the cold, the windows fog up so badly that neither of them can see the road. They pull over for a solid five minutes, waiting for the windows to clear up.

Frank plays Black-Flag from his phone. The cup holder it’s sitting in amplifies the sound just a smidge. It meshes well with the clatter of rain on the roof. Almost becomes one with the cymbals. Back on the road, Gerard is finding out that this is just as good as walking. In his soul he knows it’s not the method of movement that’s key. It’s the company. 

“Listen,” Frank begins. “I know you said that you weren’t going to talk about your problems, and—and that’s okay! That’s fine. I just want you to know that… I’m here for you. I’m not gonna run my mouth at school or any devious shit like that. That’s not my style. If you’re a fucking nazi or something, that’s a different story.”

Gerard laughs away the anxiety. “I’m not a fucking nazi, Frank!”

Frank raises his arms in surrender. “I know! You’re just so cryptic, man. I’m getting worried that you’re gonna tell me you fell in love with some anime chick or some shit. My brain’s gone to some strange fucking places.”

Gerard pulls onto the highway for lack of a reason not to. “I don’t think love exists, so you can stop fetishizing me,” he jokes. 

Frank falls quiet as the song ends and a new one begins. “Now you sound like that asshole, Bert. He said that shit all the time.”

Gerard almost crashes the car. “I thought you liked Bert. You mentioned him at lunch today.”

“Fuck no, that dude can be such a dick sometimes. The stories are funny though.” Frank watches the suburbs go by, reminiscing the tales of Bert that don’t end in ruin. They are far and few between. After a few minutes go by without Gerard saying anything further, Frank steals a glance. 

Gerard’s tearing the shit out of his lower lip, gaze fixed on the road ahead of him. He sure looks focused on the road but beneath it all, Frank can see, is a cloud of malcontent. 

“Why?” Frank asks, curious. “You know him?”

“Everyone knows him. I _knew_ him. It’s different.” Gerard takes an exit ramp in case he has to make a one-eighty and take Frank right back home. “He taught me that love doesn’t exist.”

“Oh.” Frank kicks his legs awkwardly. “Wanna talk about it?”

God, if that stupid kid says one more nice thing, Gerard swears he’s gonna start crying. Not cute crying either. “Um—“ he clears his throat. “Not while driving, no.”

“Cool. Where are we going, then?” Frank asks. He’s back to looking out the window. 

This. He spent weeks worrying about this. About Frank listening and caring and being there for him. He’d expected to cry. The thing is, he’s not crying about Bert. Gerard’s eyes are so full of tears that he can’t see the road clearly anymore. That’s how he wanes off the road and into a ditch. He reverses so fast that they’re back on the road before either of them can react. Gerard’s only confirmation that it wasn’t a semi-lucid hallucination is Frank. 

Frank bursts out laughing but his grip on the car door is turning his knuckles white. “Are you fucking okay?” 

Gerard is crying with laughter himself. “No.” He wipes the tears away, still laughing when the gas light starts yelling at him. “But at least I know where we’re going.”

“Where?”

“Gas station. Find me one?” 

Frank grabs his phone from the cup holder. “Very classy,” he snickers. 

“Still better than the crack shack,” Gerard replies. The directional narration cuts through the beats of the song still playing. 

Frank shrugs. “I'm sure it's not that bad.”

Gerard groans. “Slut.”

Laughing, Frank punches him in the arm. “Fuck you. Like you’re a virgin.”

Gerard considers it a bad idea for Frank to attack him after he’s already driven them off the road once, but he’s not gonna pick that fight. “I’m a God-fearing man. I’m disappointed you didn’t wait until marriage.”

“Fuck, you sound like my mom. Catholic to the max.” Frank unbuckles at the gas station comes into view. “I didn’t think Bert was gay, speaking of heresy.”

“He’s not.” Gerard’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. Fortunately, the gas station is just up on the left, so he can get up and move around instead of sitting with all this nervous energy.

“What?” Frank asks, looking equal parts confused and elated. Like they haven’t already crashed the car. Like this conversation holds no cause for sadness. 

Gerard appreciates the fresh take. “He’s not gay.”

“I heard that, I just… I don’t get how you two… just what?”

“That’s what I said too,” replies Gerard, pulling into the gas station. Even though it’s completely empty, he takes the spot farthest from the road. 

The neon lights from the mini-mart echo on the wet pavement, painting abstract the pinks and blues. Getting out of the car, wind bringing color to his cheeks, Gerard notices the rain has stopped. The gas pump must have been red, white and blue at some point, but now the colors are muted. A not-so-thin layer of dust blots them all out. For a gas station on a desolate road at eight-thirty on a Wednesday, it’s pretty average. At least it’s empty.

There’s a nice curb that Gerard eyes while paying for gas. It faces the street, swathed in soft neon light. A few feet out the colors merge with the orange street lamps, like fresh water meeting salt. _So, that’s the place?_ he thinks. The spot where he’ll explain everything, like he’s been dreading for weeks? The curb, although wet, looks more appealing than any counseling office chair he’s ever been on. 

He pulls the nozzle out of the gas tank and holsters it back on the pump. “Wanna go—“ He’s talking to no one. He turns a few times, wondering when Frank learned to teleport, before the bell on the door of the mini-mart rings. 

Frank walks back over with a plastic bag in his hand. “They gave me a dollar coin as change!” He’s holding the fat motherfucker in his hand like it’s an olympic medal. Together they walk to the curb and plop down. 

“What’d you buy?”

Frank snorts. “I bought a bag of cheetos. The rest was free because I didn’t want to pay for it.” He gestures to the box of ice cream sandwiches and the pack of cigarettes. 

“Don’t they keep the cigs behind the register?” Gerard asks, peeling an ice cream sando.

“I’m very agile.”

“I guess being a hobbit has it’s perks,” Gerard quips, earning a half-hearted glare from Frank. 

“I liked you better depressed.” He snatches the ice cream sandwich for himself before Gerard can take a bite. Through a mouth full he says, “So continue. I wanna hear about the shit-head who got you all fucked up.”

Gerard is strangely encouraged. “Do you want the long version or the short version?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

Gerard takes a breath. “I literally do not have enough time in this life to explain to you how many mistakes I made.” He leans inwards, knees to knees with Frank. 

Frank checks his phone. “Nah, but you’ve got like eleven hours. No excuses.”

The world takes a breath with him. A siren cuts through the sky, far away, painting the skyscrapers in the distance faintly red. Thunder rumbles above, hiding somewhere behind the swirling grey clouds. The gas station behind them, in all its fluorescent glory, casts upon them a feeling of a corn maze. Or rather, being stuck at the very center of it, with a thousand confusing directions all leading absolutely nowhere. The wind picks up for a moment, only to slip right on by as Gerard exhales.

And he begins. He starts with freshman year when Bert asked him out, spends a lot of time cutting deep, emphasizing how ignorant he had been. 

Midway through, Frank purses his lips.

“It’s okay, you can cringe,” Gerard adds, a faint smile on his lips. 

“Yikes,” Frank replies, looking pained.

Gerard appreciates the levity. It gives him a break from the repeat emotions in his vortex. (It’s become unoriginal. The vortex only plays the same bad love song, and the record player is his heart.) He continues on. Just like real life, summer comes and goes, just as monochrome and boring as it had been a few months ago. Painting a villain feels too easy, so he tries not to lay blame on Bert’s ex-girlfriend, who had been at camp with Bert. Still, he feels it’s worth noting. 

“Then that’s when I found you at the bus stop?” Frank asks, speaking for the first time in about half an hour. "Having been recently cheated on?"

Gerard nods.

"Wow. I mean, you seemed really messed up then but I never thought..." Frank shakes his head. "That's heavy. Anyway, continue."

Gerard moves on to the first day of school, a day full of occurrences Frank also remembers. Apparently storming out of the courtyard wasn’t subtle. Frank offers him an ice cream sandwich to ease the pain. It’s all melty by now, but that’s okay because he doesn’t have much story left to tell. 

It seems to Gerard that his whole day has been spent talking. First at lunch with his friends, then after school with Mikey and Lindsey and Brendon. So much talking. But explaining Bert to Frank, finally releasing himself from the worry and fear is not tedious. It’s cathartic. 

Once he’s back up to present day, he expects to stop. He’s said his piece, right? That should be it. Except he’s got more to say. He spends quite a bit of time word vomiting, explaining how he feels about it all. Just telling the story doesn’t do his destruction justice. He tries not to play the victim or blame Bert for everything, but, as Kathleen has told him, he’s allowed to express his own emotions. 

Amidst the ranting, Gerard misses how dutifully Frank is paying attention. It doesn’t occur that for all the time he’s been talking, Frank keeps his eyes on Gerard. Gerard is too busy staring off into the distance while he speaks. He did see the moonlight glinting off of a snail-slime trail, so it wasn’t a total loss. 

When he runs out of specific memories of feelings to mention, he allows the silence to soothe. The melty ice cream sandwich isn’t as bad as he thought it would be. 

After a respectful amount of seconds pass, Frank straightens up a little. “You spent a lot of time tearing yourself down.” To anyone else that may have sounded like a simple observation, but it was more in both of their eyes. It was the gentle hand that pulls a man back from the building’s ledge. 

_Shit_ , Gerard thinks. _Kathleen’s gonna have my ass_. That mask of worry shelters the deeper issue for now. 

Frank half-smiles. “I think I’d get a less biased version from Bert, not gonna lie. You sounded like you’re trying to make me hate you.”

“I’d get it if you did,” Gerard replies, shoving the rest of the ice cream sandwich in his mouth. 

“You were young and made some stupid mistakes. That motherfucker cheated on you and you think I’d take _his_ side?” Frank shoots back. He takes Gerard’s face gently in his hands. “I don’t think I could ever hate you. Listen, Gee, I know you’re gonna get this eventually, but it wasn’t all your fault. Beating yourself up isn’t going to fix it. You gotta forgive yourself.”

Gerard’s reluctance to absolve himself of any crimes chips away with every word Frank says. But he can’t find room for that in his vortex right now, because he’s too busy admiring the green in Frank’s eyes. His dream was right. It was there all along. 

After the staring contest that brings Gerard to tears, he nods. Frank doesn’t lower his hands until Gerard agrees. Gerard misses the feeling as soon as it’s gone. “It’s a work in progress,” he says. 

“Aren’t we all,” Frank agrees, lighting what could well be his third cigarette of the hour. 

“Who’s edgy now?” Gerard snickers, wiping the tears off of his cheeks. 

“Definitely still you. The runny eyeliner really sells it.” He blows smoke into the cold night air. “What made you decide to tell me now? You seemed adamant this afternoon that tonight was not the night.”

Gerard’s heart is either beating double-time or skipping beats. Good thing Frank isn’t looking at him now, he’s a wreck. “I—uh… I’ve had enough of being miserable. Maybe it’s not up to me how fast I’m healing but I’m sick to death of this part of it. It’s not even healing, to be honest, it’s just coping. So, I’m going to try and move forward. Telling you was the last thing keeping me up at night.”

“Aw, you really were shitting your pants thinking I’d hate you!” Frank coos sarcastically. 

“I wish I had your self-worth,” Gerard replies, rolling his eyes. There's a lot more of Frank he’d like to have. God, could that part of his brain shut up for just a little while? He has a friendship to not ruin right now! “I’d hate to feed your ego, but… yeah. Being sad all the time sucks but it also… takes so much. It excluded me from my friends and their comfort and love. Aside from a few good times, these last few months mean nothing to me. I don't even remember all of it because there's just... not a lot worth remembering. I was too fucking miserable. And I hate that, I hate missing out. Not because I’m a social butterfly usually, but because I’m just so… lonely.” The knife in his gut churns his insides around. So that’s the nameless feeling circulating through him… the one that’s been ever-present but silent in equal regard. 

The night has fallen extra quiet. Where once the nighttime insects hummed, now plays only the rhythm of a far off freeway and the city it guards. And it would be the perfect stage for something beautiful to happen, if only Gerard had the guts. If only they weren’t cut up. 

With no intention of taking it anywhere, Gerard picks his tangent back up. “Being lonely, like, truly lonely is just… I don’t have the words for it. I felt like a wild animal, absolutely fucking rabid for anyone to care about me. I still do, which is why I was so worried you’d get mad. Thank you for not lashing out.” His voice catches in his throat despite his best efforts to sound casual.

The light from the gas station glints off of the concern in Frank’s eyes. “Yeah, of course.” He puts an arm around Gerard’s shoulders and scoots closer. Frank doesn’t have any war wounds but he senses a storm coming. 

“But, y’know, the loneliness isn’t only detrimental. It’s motivating, in a way. It makes me want to be happier every day, to show people that I’m worth having around, that I’m not completely bat-shit crazy.”

“Which you are,” Frank mutters playfully. 

“Which I am,” Gerard agrees. “And I’m not all better yet, so it feels kind of fake of me to pretend I am. I just want to be clear…” Gerard’s finally beginning to notice how diligently Frank is listening. The smoke he breathes rises between them. 

Gerard shuts his eyes and furrows his brow, trying to regain his train of thought. “On the other hand, there are some things… some people that really make me want to be better. Mikey and Lindsey and Ray, for sure. They’re my family. I’ve got to come back into the light for them. But… recently I’ve started to find that there are people who make me want to come back into the light. There’s a difference. Some people…” 

_God, not now. Please, don’t do this,_ he begs himself, unable to stop. His words are coming out softer and softer, and Frank is leaning in closer to hear them. 

Gerard clears his throat. Fuck it. “Frank, I think you might have saved my life." He takes a drag from his cigarette. "Like, I never felt like dying, more like... I was dying. Part of me was dying. But you... I don't know, you made me feel alive again. And now I know that I need to be a person again, not just a husk for negativity to exist within. Because I know I can be happy, because you showed me. So… thank you.”

Gerard can all but physically feel the _Achievement Unlocked!_ box pop up over his head as the last words fade from his lips. He’s checked all the boxes, even the ones he had hoped to keep locked away. There’s nothing left for him to say. But there’s no need for words.

It wasn’t exactly a declaration of love, but Gerard knows what he meant, and the look on Frank's face says he gets it too. With that said, he officially has nothing left to hide. The last shreds of the weighs that held him down fade away. He feels no shame looking at Frank the way he used to when no one could see him. With unfaltering admiration, the kind that notices the green in Frank’s eyes. 

And Frank's so frozen in his body. Every beat of his heart pumps more adrenaline into his system but it has nowhere to go. All he can do is sit and stare at the dry tear streaks on Gerard’s face and breathe shallow breaths. Like the gunshot before a race, his cigarette drops from his mouth. It fizzles out in a puddle as he crashes into Gerard, kissing him so hard that his teeth bruise the backs of his lips. And when Gerard grabs him back, it makes every second spent pining worth it. 

Gerard tries to hold the sides of Frank's face but his hands are cold and shaking, so he wraps an arm around Frank's shoulders and lets his other hand drop to his lap. Eyes closed, and pressed together, he feels Frank's equally cold hand lace their fingers together. Gerard can't breathe but he doesn't care at all. He would happily die right here and now if his last moments were spent this way. 

They only part when another car rolls into the gas station. Even then, it’s surreal. Like he doesn't know where the red on Frank cheeks came from, or why they're knee-to-knee, or how his lips got wet. The burn in his heart that begs him to kiss Frank again has an undertone of addiction. It tells him he's gotta stop now or he never will. All the goodness and accompanying pain is too much, too bright. Somehow, knowing that no look, kiss, or fuck from Bert ever made him feel like that only worsens the ache in his heart. He hates himself for ruining that euphoria so swiftly. _Fucking highway robbery,_ he thinks. 

Gerard clears his throat, looking down at the drowned cigarette. “I am… not healthy.”

Frank looks away too, growing paler by the second. 

“No, don’t worry, it’s not like that,” Gerard clarifies. “I’m just not one-hundred percent yet. I am all fucked up, like you said, and I have to fix that first.”

“First?”

Gerard panics. “You don’t have to—I’m not asking you to stick around or anything, that’d be shitty of me. I’m just saying that I really need to get better before I… we…”

Frank stares into the distance for a few minutes. 

In all the time they'd been talking, Gerard has been warming up to the idea that tonight wouldn't end in a permanent sort of goodbye. Yet again he's allowed himself to believe an easy lie, rather than the inconvenient truth. It burns him inside out, waiting for Frank to get up and go. 

But Frank sends a calm gaze his way, and tucks some hair behind Gerard's ear. “I’m your friend no matter what,” he says finally. “If that’s what you need right now, that’s what I’ll be.” He sends a smile Gerard’s direction, and nothing about it looks fake.

“Thank you.” Gerard can barely get the words out, he’s holding the pain back so tightly. “I'm gonna resurrect myself, y'know. But you can't be my crutch, because..." For a second he has no justification. His bullet-point list of reasons why they shouldn't be together is nowhere to be found. And Gerard can still taste him on his lips. Deep, stabbing pains attack his heart as he pulls out a reason he doesn't believe in. "I just need to get better. You’re an escape to me and I'm only ever happy when you're around… nobody can live like that. I need to need myself as much as I need you.”

Frank watches him talk, elbows on knees. "I'm an escape?"

"You are the fucking light at the end of the tunnel," Gerard says sharply. "My life sucks right now. I don't wanna drag you into it. I want to be happy and I want to be with you. Right now I'm just not strong enough." He smiles sadly. “I’m sorry I can’t do better than that.”

Frank kisses him again, briefly this time. “You don’t have to. I’m not going anywhere.”

Daring to truly smile, Gerard asks, “Yeah?”

Frank’s clothes are oversaturated and he’s achy from sitting on a curb for so long. He stands and stretches, reaching up to the dark sky. He offers a hand down to Gerard and pulls him up. They are both basked in soft purple light. 

“Yeah,” Frank agrees. 

~

The drive back is a lot less stressful than the ride there. By now, the ice cream sandwiches have all been eaten and the pack of smokes is pocketed for the trip back. The moon is hidden by the matted clouds, but the clock claims it’s twelve thirty. A much earlier turn in than either of them are used to, but neither of them complain. 

Frank kisses him through the driver’s side window, still rain soaked and grinning. He waves one more time before he runs around the side of his house and sneaks in through the back door. 

Then there’s only one in the car. To Gerard, being alone used to be a time of mourning and regrets. The short car ride from Frank’s house to his is a time of yearning and hopes. _Not a bad turnaround,_ he thinks, pulling as quietly as possible into the driveway.

His key is in the front door when he smells smoke. After a moment spent deciphering whether the smoke is coming from the house itself or someone outside it, he creeps around the side of the house with his keys between his fingers. He finds Mikey sitting on a big rock, smoking silently. 

“Smoking kills,” Gerard whispers. 

“Yeah, well. It was a long night. Thanks for dipping out on me,” he replies. Despite his icy tone, he makes room for Gerard on his rock. 

“Pete?” Gerard asks. 

Mikey stares into the neighbor’s garden without a word. 

Gerard pulls the soggy box of cigs out from his coat pocket and sets them down in between them like a bartering chip. 

“Pete,” Mikey agrees, tossing Gerard his lighter in exchange. “We’re not dating or anything. I don’t think either of us want that. But he’s weird about telling people, like it’s anybody’s business but ours. He talks about it like it’s the next plot point in the reality show that is his life. Fucking annoying, if you ask me. Plus, there’s the whole coming out thing, which I’m really not… ready for.”

Gerard snickers. “Sounds like we had pretty similar nights.”

Mikey chokes on smoke. “What?”

Gerard lights a cig up, figuring he’ll be here for a while now that he’s got Mikey talking. “I mean, I had some talks along those lines. More or less.”

He catches the alarmed look Mikey is glaring at him with, and only now does he remember that Mikey _saw_ him leave with Frank. Which means…

“You had that talk with _Frank_?”

Which means Gerard shouldn’t have lit up, because now he _has_ to stay. He freezes, unable to fathom how insurmountably he’s fucked up. Again. 

Mikey pushes him expectantly. 

_Fuck._ “Mikey, I’ve got something to tell you.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed please leave a comment


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